


Short Sweet and Pointless

by easybeak



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aromantic Natasha Romanov, Asexual Clint Barton, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes and the 21st Century, Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Happy Ending, FUCK, Fluff and Angst, Fuck You Marvel, Gay Bucky Barnes, Hydra (Marvel), Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Lack of Communication, Language, M/M, Marvel Universe, Mental Instability, Movie Night, Murphy's Law, Nightmares, Post-HYDRA Reveal, Pre-Relationship, Protective Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, So much Canon Divergence, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Tony Stark is HERE, and by god im gonna do it, bucky barnes is clumsy as fuck, deaf!clint barton, he is alive, i swear like a fuckin sailor and so do my characters, im gonna die on this damn rock, infinity war ain't gonna happen just so you know, ive decided right this actual second to write tony stark into this fanfiction, oh god why do some of these tags exist, slow burn steve rogers x bucky barnes, steve rogers/bucky barnes reunion, stucky feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-08-03 08:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 76,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16323221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/easybeak/pseuds/easybeak
Summary: Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers are left worlds apart (though not literally) after a rescue mission gone awry (and, y'know, the whole HYDRA thing in general), and are forced to try and pick up the pieces as best they can. While they both seem to at last be safe from the disaster that seems to finally have stopped unfolding around them, there doesn't seem to be much they can do to find each other again.That is, until Bucky finds himself at Steve's apartment, asking for help. Things can only go downhill from there, as Steve struggles to keep him hidden from anyone who would (justifiably) want to take him into custody.Still, they're back together again, right, even if it's just for a little while, not even full-time? That has to be better than nothing. Even if it's not perfect. So, they try to put up with it all-- Even if they wouldn't do it for anyone else.Just for a little while.





	1. Chapter 1

Six weeks, _six weeks_ , Steve had been in the ICU- according to one Nick Fury, that was- and _then_ an ordinary hospital room, and even longer than that Bucky had been waiting in a glorified prison cell to hear what had really happened to him. What _he’d done_ to him. Now that he was awake, and they’d deemed him ‘safe for personal human interaction’, whatever that meant... well, it was time.

He let the woman in the grey suit handcuff him without a fuss, not that he could have brought himself to do anything if he’d wanted to. She led him down a sterile, fluorescent-lit hallway to a mostly empty room. It seemed to him a lot like some of the labs from the HYDRA facility he’d only just escaped, despite the fact that most of the fixtures and equipment (aside from a metal table and a few chairs) were missing. Maybe it was the lights, he thought. Or the stainless steel. Maybe the poorly disguised two-way mirror? Who cared.

They’d passed through quite a bit of the building to get here, he knew, but he didn’t really remember. He didn’t _care_ . He had other things to worry about, now. Steve was going to be _here_ . In this room, with him. And they’d be… alone? Together? Maybe? It seemed like a reasonable option, at least, to have Steve talk to him. After all, they’d been friends, at one point, and he hadn’t displayed any signs of aggression over the last month or so to warrant too much caution. Besides, Fury had said Steve had wanted to see him, the one time they’d spoken. That had been, what, three weeks ago? He was really losing track of the time. That had been back when Steve had first gotten out of the ICU, anyway. Maybe he hadn’t been lying? Why _would_ he lie, come to think of it?

The woman- Maria Hill was her name, maybe? Had left. He was alone, both of his hands cuffed to the metal chair. It _hurt_ , the metal digging into his tender, just-healed skin, which surprised him. He’d conditioned himself not to feel pain, hadn’t he? What had happened to that? Still, it was refreshing, in a way. Almost… humanizing, somehow. _Nice._ He wasn’t fighting it.

Some time later- ten minutes, twenty, maybe an hour?- the metal door slid open and (no, it wasn’t Steve, his heart sank a little at the realization) a red-haired woman entered the room.

“Sergeant Barnes?” She said, her voice surprisingly low, almost… husky.

He nodded, mutely, not sure what to say despite it being a yes or no question.

“Can I sit down?”

Another nod. She shut the door behind her and went to sit down across from him at the table, one of the legs of her chair catching on the carpet as she tried to pull it out. “I’m Natasha Romanoff. I work for SHIE- Nicholas Fury. I don’t know if you recognize me, I’m… one of the people who helped bring you in after… well, you know.” She looked reluctant, and a little awkward, as though it was maybe something she shouldn’t mention. He rather shared the sentiment.

“I- yeah. I know.” He remembered that, at least. It wasn’t like it was exactly _easy_ to forget.

“Can I ask you, just… a few questions? About what you remember?”

God, he didn’t want to fucking _talk_ about what he remembered. All he wanted to do was see Steve again. Apologize, maybe. “I- sure.”

She hadn’t brought a laptop, or even a notepad. He supposed that meant someone was listening in. That, or else she just had an excellent memory. Maybe both. But what did he care, he was just kind of… here. Because it wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be. Who gave a damn if someone was listening in, as long as he wasn’t in federal prison.

The woman- Romanoff, was it? Was she Russian?- Was talking again. “-Could tell me about what, exactly, led up to you and Captain Rogers being taken into the HYDRA facility?” She sounded like a reporter, he thought. And judging by the look on her face, she was well aware and not entirely pleased about it. It might have been funny if not for the question.

“I- Can’t Steve tell you that?” He asked. God, what if he _couldn’t_ ? What if he’d had some sort of memory loss, what if HYDRA had managed to do something to him after all, what if he’d taken some kind of turn for the worse before they could ask, what if- deep breath. He forced himself to relax a little, unclench his fists, let his back fall against the hard metal chair. He couldn’t look this tense, this… scared. Not in front of this _stranger_ , not to mention whoever else was watching through the mirror.

She was talking again. _Shit._ “Just want to make sure that your accounts of the event line up, that he didn’t leave anything out… as he does.”

So… Steve was… okay, then? It sounded like, maybe… he was all right. He’d heard enough that he could be reasonably certain, anyway. SHIELD (or whatever) just wanted to make sure he wasn’t lying about anything to protect Bucky, maybe? He couldn’t get all that just from those few sentences, of course, and even if he’d listened Romanoff would certainly not have said that. It was just… what he wanted to hear. And he was going to let himself believe it, as long as he needed to.

“Are you going to answer the question, then, Barnes?” She sounded a little impatient. There was a little piece of blue plastic protruding from her left ear, unobscured by her hair. He would have thought they’d have hidden that better. Was she receiving instructions from someone? Fury, maybe. He wouldn’t be surprised, certainly. A piece of her hair was sticking up, at odds with the perfect, shiny ringlets. “Barnes?”

He jumped a little, startled. “S-sorry.”

“What do you recall that led up to you and Captain Rogers being taken into the HYDRA facility?”

He looked down at the scratched surface of the table, forcing himself to focus. “I- I don’t remember much of… anything, really.” He was being completely honest.

“Well, could you tell me what you know, then?” She asked impatiently. Maybe if he kept dodging the question they’d just lock him up again. Or send Steve in.

He didn’t really know if he’d be able to get around it much longer without seeming suspicious. Maybe it would be for the best just to answer now and get it over with. “You know all about that… that mission he had, to come and rescue me, don’t you?” Fuck it. If he was going to spill the beans, he might as well do it right, save himself some trouble later.

She nodded, which was a relief. He didn’t want to go into any kind of detail on that for the moment. Even with HYDRA still burned into his mind, the memories weren’t… pleasant.

“And… um, where he took me afterwards?” She nodded again, and he continued. “Yeah. I think it was- might’ve been in Red Hook. I don’t really remember the specifics.” He shrugged as best he could within the confines of the chair. “Still kinda hazy, y’know? Everything just started to come back. Didn’t really know what was going on yet. Anyway, we spent the night there. Most of it, anyway. Before HYDRA found us. There was a tracker in my arm, I guess. They smashed down the front door and of course by that time everything had come back, I remembered _all_ of it, what I had to lose if I let either of them get to us again, so I tried to run, and so did Steve. He said we had somewhere else to go, and all we had to do was get away, but we never even made it through the door. I woke up… a while later, I think. I dunno. I was on this… metal table, like an operation table, kind of. Sorta felt like I’d been drugged, but maybe they just hit me in the head. I dunno. Then… I think after a while I started to hear screaming, and I just thought, ‘Hey, Steve’s here, too,’ and then I blacked out again. Next thing I know, I’m in a different safe house—I think it’s really just a regular house this time—and I have _no idea_ how I got there, and then… I don’t remember much after that either. They fucked my head up pretty bad.”

He looked across the table at her. Her expression was unreadable again, a little unnerving to him. He was _used_ to being able to read people, used to being _good_ at it. It was unsettling to say the least to not have the slightest clue what this woman was thinking or feeling, beyond little twinges of irritation or impatience now and then.

She spoke, finally. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

Then she was silent for a moment, and it occurred to him that that had been maybe the most he’d spoken in about seventy years. Maybe more. He wondered if his throat would hurt in the morning. His mind wandered back over to the more pressing matter at hand- Romanoff. What the hell was her agenda? Should he ask? That seemed like… a bad idea. It went against everything he’d been trained about for the last three quarters of a century, and even if he wasn’t going to be punished for it now, well… old habits died hard. Besides, she wouldn’t tell him that, most likely, even if he’d asked. Still…

She stood up, readjusting the earpiece in her ear. Apparently it wasn’t supposed to stick out like that, after all. “Thank you for your time, sir. Someone will come and bring you back to your room in a few minutes.”

He looked up from the spotless, metal tabletop, which he’d been rather thoroughly examining until the sound of her voice brought him back to reality. “Wait… sorry-” he looked away for an agonizing moment, almost forgetting what he’d been about to say. God, why had he decided to ask…? This was stupid, he should just- “Is Steve okay?” He blurted out. “He’s not… he’s not really hurt, is he?”

“I- well-” She suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable. “You- you know… with the amount of damage he sustained… even with the serum he’s lucky to be alive. But yes, he’s all right. Fury informed you when he was transferred from the ICU, I remember, and since then he’s been recovering… pretty steadily, I’d say.”

He got the impression that she was trying to make him feel guilty, as though she were making sure he knew it were his fault. As though he didn’t know that already. He’d had _plenty_ of time to think about all that while he’d been recovering from his own injuries, and then while he’d been in his cell, waiting for news of Steve’s recovery.

If he hadn’t fallen from the damn train, if he’d just _died_ then, if HYDRA hadn’t captured him, if he hadn’t _let them_ , if only he’d tried to escape or _something_. It really was his fault. It didn’t take this woman- this girl, really, she was what, twenty-five?- to convince him of that.

Speaking of Romanoff, he was alone again, sitting in the metal chair under the fluorescent lights in this environment that was all too similar to any of those HYDRA facilities… God, he’d love to be anywhere but here. Or here, with Steve. That would be all right, too. Even better than all right… But he didn’t have him here to help this time. He was on his own for now.

He closed his eyes, leaning back slightly in the chair and taking a few deep breaths. He needed to relax, before he started to lose control or something. He didn’t need to have some kind of panic attack, not here, not the first time they’d let him out of his cell.

Before he could get anywhere close to _relaxing,_ though, he was startled by the sound of the door opening. Romanoff was back, and she looked _pissed._ Kind of familiar, now that he saw the concentrated expression on her face while she twirled the set of keys between her fingers. Freaky.

He tried not to flinch as she unlocked the handcuffs from the chair using some sort of metal cube and tried not to let out a sigh of relief when she stood back to let him up. Her stormy eyes were unnerving, too, like everything else about her. Sort of... intense. Not in a good way.

He stood up, shakily, his hands still cuffed together, and followed her as she silently led the way out of the room. He was _afraid_ of this woman, for whatever god damn reason. He couldn’t really imagine why. She was about the least frightening thing he’d had to face in recent memory, at least. Hell, one swipe with his metal hand and he wouldn’t even have to worry about her anymore. Problem solved, just like that, just a little snap and a soft thud as she fell to the ground…

God, no, no he wasn’t allowed to think like that anymore. If he was going to get out of here he had to be _normal._ He couldn’t listen to the Winter Soldier anymore, he knew that. He couldn’t just solve all his problems with a wave of that damn arm like some kind of fucked-up magic wand. It just didn’t work that way, after all. Even if he had a reason to kill her… even if he _did_ , which he _didn’t_ , he’d still have a hell of a time justifying it to Fury, who was his only hope for getting out of this hellhole.

And anyway, what was the Winter Soldier doing, popping up just now? It was like he was being ridiculed, almost. It certainly seemed that way- first he hadn’t gotten to see Steve after all, then he’d told Romanoff all that _bullshit_ that had happened to get him here in the first place… And now this. Now he had to deal with _that_ , too.

He let her lead him down a long series of hallways that he thought was different than the way he’d come. That was no reason to be worried or anything, of course. She wasn’t the one who’d brought him here. Maybe she knew a shortcut. Maybe she had some kind of errand to run and she was bringing him along? Or maybe he was going somewhere else entirely.

But where, exactly, he couldn’t fathom. This seemed to be some kind of medical center, and far out of the way of wherever he’d been before. Of course, he had no clue what building this was, or where- as if anyone would tell _him_ \- but it seemed to be some sort of headquarters. For what, he didn’t know. Whatever it was, it was clearly enormous. They’d been walking for nearly fifteen minutes already, and they were nowhere near his cell, or so his enhanced navigational abilities told him.

He was just working up enough courage to ask her where she was taking him, when all at once the breath seemed to leave his body. It was _Steve_ , leaning against a counter talking to a nurse or someone whose back was to the doorway. Steve saw him, too. He could tell from the way his eyes widened, the way he took up an almost defensive posture, before Romanoff steered him away, back down the hall.

There was an almost smug look on her face now, he saw, and she wasn’t even bothering to hide it. He couldn’t imagine why that was, and he couldn’t begin to care, because why would he? It had been _Steve_ . And he’d looked _afraid_.

He’d seemed perfectly intact and completely fine otherwise, of course, he didn’t even look tired, but he’d been scared, and it was perfectly obvious why that was. He let Romanoff lead him back to his cell (it was another ten minutes- they’d taken some sort of roundabout way back, and from what he could tell she hadn’t done anything to justify it, so the only explanation he could think of was that it was so he could see Steve. Or possibly vice versa?) without another word, no longer paying the slightest bit of attention to his surroundings.

As the cuffs around his wrists fell away and the metal door (it had looked to him like the ones in the police station back in Brooklyn that he’d gone to pick Steve up from so many times back home, it had made his heart ache and his throat close up just a little, the first time he’d really seen it, at the memories it had brought back) slammed shut behind him and Romanoff’s black kitten heels began to click away in the opposite direction, he sank down on his cot and put his head in his hands, trying to just _block out_ some of the thoughts rushing through his head. It didn’t work that way. He was too weirded out by whatever had just happened with Romanoff (she looked so damn _familiar_ \- and angry, but that was another matter), and then Steve. And he was still in this cell, which still occasionally brought back pangs of homesickness for 1940’s Brooklyn, as sad as that was. _And,_ on top of all that, his arm hurt and he was still afraid and in the dark about what would happen to him now. And of course he fucking _missed Steve_ , and nothing he could do was going to help that, he was realizing.

He stretched out on the cot, looking up at the blank ceiling. He’d known Steve was here, of course. Fury had mentioned it, the one time he’d come to visit and update him on everything that had happened. That had been.. So long ago. If he weren’t so exhausted and otherwise occupied, he might be angry at Fury for leaving him in the dark like this, but the truth was, it didn’t really matter to him. He was far more concerned with _Steve._

Steve had always been his number one priority, back when they were kids and Steve had been little and always sick or trying to pick a fight with someone, it had been his responsibility to keep him out of trouble. Then when they’d gotten older (and moved in together), Bucky had gotten a more… up-close view of what things were like for him, helping to take care of him when he was sick (despite his protests) and occasionally having to go and pick him up from the police station or drag him away from a fight. Then he’d been drafted, and, well… he’d tried everything he could to get out of it, just to stay with Steve. He’d had nothing against serving his country, of course. He just… didn’t want to leave him alone to get killed in a bar fight or some stupid shit like that. But he’d been poor, absolutely broke. And short of getting married (which would have cost money, anyway), that left him with absolutely no options, legal or otherwise. So he’d had no choice but to leave him, and of course that hadn’t lasted long. While they’d been in the army together, again, Bucky’s first and most serious priority had been to keep him from serious harm. He’d managed it all right, and then, well… he’d fallen. And the rest was history, so they said.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts, realizing that they were only making him more of a nervous, depressed wreck than he already was. Maybe he should just cut his losses, get out of here… he didn’t really have anything else to lose, did he? Except for Steve. Okay. He had Steve.

Maybe he could sneak out and go see him, then. Before he committed to this whole escape plan thing. It wouldn’t even be hard, would it? The door to his cell unlocked with an old-fashioned metal key. The same kind that had been on his and Steve’s front door back home. Sure, there would be cameras and shit, but he knew how to get around those, didn’t he? He’d been trained for about fifty years on how to get around _cameras_. No big deal, even.

He rolled over and went to sleep, already feeling a little refreshed by this new idea in his mind, keeping him from completely sinking into the pit of despair he’d already dug for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> turns out i fucked up the exposition for this chapter pretty bad haha i had to go back and redo Bucky's whole explanation of what happened after Steve tried to rescue him  
> i think i fixed all the really bad incontinuities for now but do tell if theres anything else i need to fix


	2. Chapter 2

Steve hadn’t been _ prepared _ to see Bucky the other day. Not… Not being led around the facility like that, in handcuffs. Not with that look of dread and downright fear on his face, as if he were being led towards the electric chair. He especially wasn’t prepared for the look that he’d given him, when he’d recognized him, as though he were an old teacher (or a HYDRA operative), maybe an ex: someone he didn’t want to run into in public. Someone he was afraid he might have to interact with. 

That had stung a little, even though he’d been prepared for worse. Natasha had told him she’d try and bring him by when she got the chance, so they could at least see each other again, if only for a second. They’d hoped he’d be able to talk to him, but it just didn’t seem to want to work out that way. Despite Steve always being around the facility for one kind of testing or another, and Natasha and Sam (who’d offered to help) basically working there, and Bucky being, well, imprisoned, none of them ever seemed to be in the right place at the right time. 

It was frustrating, really- all he wanted to do was talk to his old friend, and Fury was  _ so damn strict _ about who was allowed to see him: at first it had just been himself and the select few medical staff, as needed. Then a couple of psychologists and the same therapist Steve still saw sometimes, when he started to recover and the nightmares and the effects of his most recent trauma began to really set in. Not that Steve would know anything about that. He wasn’t  _ supposed _ to know. 

The worst part of all this was that he had  _ no fucking idea _ why this was supposed to be a secret from him. Of course, Fury was probably aware that he knew by now, so it wasn’t like it was a security threat or a real danger to him or Bucky or anything. Sam had speculated that he didn’t want them to be able to come up with any lies about what had happened with HYDRA. Natasha thought that maybe he was just biding his time, until he and Bucky were both really healed (but they were both  _ fine _ , Steve had protested, and she’d argued that he had absolutely no way of knowing that with all the secrecy around the place these days). 

But really, now that he’d thought about it some more, even  _ worse  _ was being so close to Bucky and yet so fucking far away. After getting him back from HYDRA- finally- and the whole disaster that had ensued… well, he wanted to talk to him. He wanted to be a part of his life again, as stupid as that was. Besides, maybe it wouldn’t really be a bad thing if they could talk about what had happened in those hellish forty-eight hours that had ensued after the rescue mission. It might… help, a little. He knew Bucky had to be suffering, too, from what Sam and Nat had told him. After all, in addition to his new scars from their latest escapade, he had to deal with being in prison (which had to be pretty similar to HYDRA, after all), and according to the file they’d gotten from one of the computers in the medical wing, he was also gaining back some of his repressed memories (from what little the doctors had managed to get him to say, and from what he’d said- screamed, really- during his nightmares, before they’d put him on daily medication). 

God, the thought of what Bucky had to be going through… it was nothing compared to his own problems.

He threw another punch at the punching bag in front of him, pain shooting through his knuckles and bringing him back to reality at last. He’d forgotten to wrap his hands- if Bucky were here he’d scold him for it. Or… not let him do dumb shit like that in the first place. 

He stepped back, out of range of the still-swinging punching bag, and examined his hands. As much as he didn’t want to stop- his thoughts were still racing, and this was the one way he could really make himself calm down (besides medication or talking to Sam or Nat, but really none of those seemed like viable options today)- he needed to take care of himself better. Sam had already given him a talking-to about making sure he ate enough the other day, and he  _ didn’t _ need him getting wind of stuff like this, too. 

He quickly made his way down the hall to the bathroom, trying not to let Sam hear him- because he was at his damn  _ house _ , just to borrow his exercise equipment for a few hours, because his apartment was too small (and the walls were too thin) to house anything other than a treadmill. Once he’d made it without arousing suspicion, he locked the door behind him, found the first-aid kit, and set about trying to fix up his hands, which had started to bleed. He wasn’t  _ good _ at this sort of thing. It had always been Bucky’s job to patch him up. He’d never had much experience with it himself. The fact that the damage was also mostly to his right hand didn’t make it any easier. 

He could ask Sam for help, of course, but… he was too proud. He didn’t need another talking-to, and he  _ didn’t  _ want to explain why he was so distracted that he’d forgotten something so obvious. He could just head home once he was done here, say he had an appointment or something. He’d been almost done training for the day, anyway. Sam wouldn’t care, he probably wouldn’t notice that he’d left, if he was even home at all. 

That was something he kind of liked about him, now that they’d gotten to know each other. He- and Natasha, for that matter- didn’t usually ask questions. Sam was busy, and Nat was hiding secrets of her own, so neither of them could really be bothered to ask whether or not he was headed straight home after their occasional “dinner date”, as they’d taken to calling them. He appreciated that, yeah, but it also made him miss Bucky- how even though they’d usually been complete assholes to each other, they both took the time to make sure the other got home safely every night. Bucky, especially, had been careful about things like that. Especially after they’d moved in together… he’d asked nearly every hour, at first, if Steve felt all right, if he was too cold, if he wanted anything to eat. He’d relaxed eventually, of course, but it had been nice to have someone looking out for him like that, even if he got a little overbearing at times. 

Damn, he’d give anything for it to be like that again, just the two of them… He’d told himself over and over again that he  _ wasn’t allowed to think like that _ , that he shouldn’t even daydream about stupid shit like that, since he had Sam and Nat and the Avengers now. He didn’t need to worry about the past anymore, because even if he and Bucky were reunited- wouldn’t that be the fucking miracle of miracles- things surely wouldn’t be the same again. They’d been through so much, Bucky was bound to be… closed off. Cold, even. Like he’d been the last time they’d spoken, before HYDRA had caught up with them. Their friendship couldn’t be salvageable after all that, could it? Maybe he could hope…

He forced himself to snap out of it by sheer willpower this time, standing up straight and looking up at his own reflection in the mirror. He took a deep breath, flexing his fingers and wincing at the pain, though they were probably already healing. Quickly, he put everything back in the medicine cabinet where he’d found it, careful not to leave anything there or on the counter out of order so Sam didn’t suspect anything. 

He took one last, deep breath, unlocked the door- and immediately came face to face with Sam Wilson. 

In all fairness, Sam looked just as surprised as he probably did. “What the hell are you doing in my bathroom, Rogers?” He asked.

Despite it being a very simple question, Steve was unable to think of a suitable answer and instead stuttered for a moment, trying to keep his freshly bandaged hands out of sight as casually as he could. “I- I was, I was just-”

“Steve, I can  _ see  _ your hands. What did you do, did you start a bar fight or some shit? Can’t you clean yourself up at your own place?” 

He sighed, defeated. There was no point in trying to hide anything from him, after all, this was  _ Sam.  _ Trying would just be childish. “It’s no big deal, really. No criminal activity or anything this time. Just forgot to wrap my hands before I started-” He trailed off, taking in the disappointed, worried, but mostly unsurprised expression on his face.

“Steve.” Whatever he was about to say was completely serious, and honestly Steve didn’t really want to find out what it was going to be- “I can  _ tell  _ when something’s wrong with you, you know. You’re an  _ awful  _ liar. Anyway, you wanna tell me what’s up with you lately? If it’s about Bucky-” He broke off awkwardly. 

Steve looked down at the floor, not really sure how to respond. He could lie, of course, say he was just worried about Fury, and all the tests and shit he was still putting him through. But he’d see through immediately, of course. He knew Steve didn’t crack under that kind of pressure. He was used to that sort of thing, he had been ever since he was a little kid. It was better just to tell the truth, because it was taking too long to come up with a good lie, damn it… “Yeah. It’s Bucky. I just- I guess… I miss him.” 

He immediately regretted saying it that way, because Sam was looking at him with  _ pity _ , of all things, and besides, it had sounded… wrong. Like he was some kind of long-lost lover instead of a friend. 

“Of course you miss him.” He still looked  _ so  _ awkward. Steve almost felt bad for him, too. “He’s your best friend, Steve. You’re not just gonna be able to move on. Besides, you’ll be able to see him again. Fury’s got everything under control now, y’know.”

He sighed. Neither of them was really  _ good  _ at dealing with this type of thing. Sam’s area of expertise was dealing with the aftermath of war and violence and  _ suffering _ , not this Steve-missing-his-childhood-best-friend bullshit. And Steve… well, he prefered to just try and push everything aside and keep focusing on the  _ real  _ problems, which hadn’t left him with much practice at this kind of thing over the years. Still, he really  _ did  _ appreciate someone trying to help, even if he was… mostly unsuccessful. 

“I know, Sam. Really… thank you.” He forced a smile, hoping it wouldn’t look too fake. “I’ve been thinking of just asking Fury if I could talk to him, instead of all this, y’know, having Natasha help me sneak around.”

“Why don’t you?”

“I mean, if I do, what if he thinks I’m impatient because I have some kind of ulterior motive? I mean, that’s the kind of thing he would do, right? And I'm already sure he doesn't trust me, anyway, because he's been keeping so many damn _secrets_ lately. And worse, what if I  _ do  _ get to see him and it just… ruins everything? What if I screw something up, or he’s… I dunno…  _ different  _ than I remember, or…” He stopped, looking over at Sam, who just seemed a little… sad. 

“Steve, Steve,  _ listen  _ to me. Fury trusts you, for one. It's just... it's how he operates. He’s not gonna think you have an ulterior motive unless you give him a _real_ reason to. He knows you guys were close. Of course he’s gonna understand if you’re impatient to see him again. But Bucky… yeah, he’s gonna be different. You get that, don’t you?”

Steve nodded, his face grim. 

“He’s been through  _ hell,  _ Steve. Nobody’s quite the same after shit like that. You know that. But he’s still gonna be the same guy, underneath all that. I promise you, he’s still gonna be the guy you knew, somewhere in there. Even if he acts a little cold, or nervous, or… angry, even.”

He nodded again, feeling somewhat reassured. At least  _ one  _ of them wasn’t completely out of their element now. Sam knew what he was talking about. He could trust him with stuff like this. 

“I- yeah. You’re right, Sam. Of course. Maybe… maybe I should talk to Fury, after all. He might let me talk to him for a few minutes, at least… who knows.”

“Yeah, it won’t hurt,” Sam agreed. “Hell, he’ll probably just agree and that’ll be it.”

Steve was silent for a moment, thinking. The idea of asking Fury for something so… personal still terrified him, frankly. But still, he knew it was probably for the best if he pulled together a little bit of courage and just went to ask anyway. Maybe it would turn out all right, after all. He shouldn’t hope, but… he couldn’t seem to help himself. And if he got to see Bucky again? That would make everything completely worth it, of course. Even just getting to see his face one more time. That would be enough, really. To see him looking not quite so scared, so… lost. Maybe he’d be able to put him at ease somehow. But now he was just letting his imagination run wild, a little too wild for his liking. It was better to focus on the present, not to hope too much, to just worry about working up the courage to talk to Fury. 

Sam was looking at him weird again. “Rogers…? You good?”

“Oh. Yeah.” He blinked a few times, reached up to run his hand through his hair, as though that would do something to clear his head. “Sorry. I- I gotta go. Got an appointment with Dr. Cho,” he lied quickly, not wanting to have to stay and deal with this particular issue any longer.

Sam nodded, looking relieved that he apparently seemed a little bit back to normal. “Yeah. Have fun with that.” 

He took his leave before anything else could happen to keep him there. It was nothing against Sam, he just… didn’t want it to get any more awkward than he’d already made it. 

\---

He ended up just going home- he might have gone to headquarters to find something to do, but this late? After eight, the place was always more or less deserted. That was one of the things he sort of missed about SHIELD. The place had been a hive of activity at all hours of the day, so his near-midnight wanderings hadn’t been anything close to suspicious then. 

At home, he ordered takeout from one of his favorite restaurants (a Thai place Clint had introduced him to)- it was right down the block, so he just walked over to pick it up. By the time he got back, it was almost midnight...great. He was supposed to have a sleep schedule, wasn’t he? 

He flicked on the TV to watch the news while he ate. It was mundane and kind of boring at first- after he’d gotten all caught up with current events, everything had just been dulled down into a meaningless monotony, only broken up by occasional (okay, frequent) fits of rage over the GOP’s shenanigans. Everyone else had gotten sick of listening to his rants a  _ long _ time ago, he knew, but sometimes he just couldn’t help himself. It was just something to do, really. 

But shit, holy shit- he hadn’t been paying attention to the news for maybe half a second, and… it took him a moment to comprehend what he was seeing. His fork fell to the floor with a clatter and he didn’t- couldn’t- take his eyes off the screen to retrieve it. 

That was- that was  _ Bucky _ . 

_ Bucky _ , Bucky was on the screen, sure, the video was slightly grainy and the frame jumped every few seconds, but it was  _ him _ . Even if he didn’t recognize the face- which he did, he’d know that face anywhere, even for the brief moment they showed the zoomed-in headshot from the video- the metal arm was kind of hard to miss. But what was Bucky doing (he was struggling to pay attention to the newscast now) by- Jesus Christ, wasn’t that his old apartment building? It looked like it… yeah, there was the street, with the median he’d accidentally driven over last spring… The Italian place Nat liked… No doubt about it. 

The reporter on-screen was warning everyone to keep an eye out for him now, as he was wanted by Interpol, and was known to be armed (pun intended, she was sure to add) and dangerous. 

Steve was no longer paying attention. Bucky was looking for  _ him.  _ He  _ knew it.  _ The bastard couldn’t just keep his cool and wait for Steve to come and see him, he had to go out all the way to DC and look for him himself. But… he didn’t know where he was, he realized. Not if he was looking at Steve’s old apartment. And how would he know, otherwise? He’d moved only three months ago, after all. His old place, the one in DC, the one where he and Bucky had first run into each other this century, held no trace of him anymore. How was Bucky supposed to find him now? What if something was wrong, what if… what if HYDRA was involved? 

He needed to find him,  _ now.  _ He was already on his feet, setting his food on the coffee table, pausing only to pick up the fork from the floor before scrambling to find his phone. He needed to text Sam, and Tony, get whoever else he could together, because he needed someone, anyone, to help him, before… before it was too late. 

  
Sam?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets wild much faster than I anticipated.  
> It might be confusing for you at this point (with all the vague references to the stuff that happened in the past and shit) but I'm probably gonna clear all that up (via flashback, of course) in the next couple of chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no response from him. Steve sat waiting anxiously, reaching out to other members of his team but not getting any answers. Finally, his phone vibrated and he was so startled that he almost dropped it. He clicked on the notification and read the brief message from Natasha. 

 

_ Rogers? You all right? _

 

He typed back a quick reply. 

 

_ I’m fine. It’s Bucky, I dunno if you saw the  _

_ news report? He escaped. _

 

_ Yeah, I saw. I figured you did, too.  _

_ They’ve got the situation under control,  _

_ Steve. He’ll be okay.  _

_ They’ll get him back, no problem. _

 

_ Natasha, I think he’s looking for me. _

 

_ What makes you say that? _

 

_ The security footage they showed, it was _

_ from outside my old apartment. You know, in DC? _

 

_ You’re sure it was DC? _

 

_ Yeah. _

 

_ Well, I mean, if he’s in DC, yeah.  _

_ Why would he be after you? _

 

_ I don’t know but I need to find him before _

_ someone else does. I don’t know what they’ll do _

_ to him now that he’s tried to escape. _

 

_ Fine. But only cause you like him. _

 

_ For the last time I don’t.  _

_ Can you meet me at the coffee shop on  _

_ Maple street in 10? _

 

_ Make it 5. _

 

Steve was already out the door, forcing himself not to sprint down the stairs to the parking garage because he hadn’t wanted to wait for an elevator. It was late, and there was a little traffic, but driving over would still be faster than walking. Besides, it was clearly about to rain, and supersoldier or not he didn’t need to get caught in a downpour. 

As luck would have it, Sam decided to call while he was waiting at a red light just down the street from the cafe. He picked up immediately, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be driving until someone honked at him. “Sam?”

“Yeah, Natasha called.” He sounded almost amused. “She told me… everything, I think. About Bucky. I’m already at the cafe, I was on my way to the store when she called.”

“So you’ll talk to her, but not me?” He abandoned his half-hearted attempt to parallel park and went off in search of a decent parking spot. Luckily, due to the late hour, they weren’t too hard to find. 

“Yeah.” He didn’t even sound guilty. “Nice parking job, by the way.”

Steve turned red even though he knew no one could see him now. “Shut up. I’ll be in in a second.” He hung up and got out of the car, turning to walk back over to the restaurant. 

Once inside, he saw Clint waiting for him with Sam and Natasha, all three of them sitting together at a corner table. He went to join them, sitting down in the empty spot next to Sam.

“So… you guys know what happened, right?” he asked, looking around at the three of them. 

“No.” 

Natasha elbowed Clint in the ribs, making him wince a little. “Sorry, he’s a prick.” She shrugged. “But could you give these two the run-down one more time, I mean, I’m the only one who got the whole story or, like, checked the news or anything.”

He nodded, then quickly began going through all the major points of the story again. Natasha had the video he’d seen saved to her phone, which she wasted no time in showing everyone. 

“Yeah… that’s your old place all right,” Sam said, craning his neck so he could see. “There’s those old houses, off on the right, y’know, with the Christmas decorations that never get taken down?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah… so… how do we find him?” Maybe one of them would already have a plan, because he sure as hell didn’t. 

His question was followed by a few seconds’ awkward silence, so… maybe not. 

After a few moments, Clint spoke up. “Hey, can I see the video again?”

Natasha wordlessly handed him her phone. He watched the clip again. And again. And again. “I can’t see shit, guys. Is this the only video they’ve got of this guy?”

Sam nodded. 

“Really? I mean, he’s got a  _ metal arm _ . You’d think he’d attract more attention than that.” He raised an eyebrow skeptically. 

Steve looked up from the tabletop. “Yeah… you’ve got a point, actually. And it’s been a while, I think, since they got that.” He gestured towards the phone in Clint’s hand. “Maybe someone else has seen him…? Maybe they’d post it online, if they had.” He sounded almost hopeful.

Natasha grabbed the phone back from Clint (“Hey!”) And began searching. 

“What were you looking for, anyway?” Sam asked, curious. “Maybe one of us would be able to find it.”

“Hey, I’m deaf, not blind. It’s just a shitty camera.” He shrugged, not looking particularly insulted despite his words. “Anyway, I was thinking that if I looked at where he was  _ going _ , maybe that would tell us something about where to find him. But no. Nothing. Just a really blurry close-up shot, and then it looks like they just dropped the camera.”

Sam had also been looking for more footage on his own phone. “We  _ could  _ just wait for Fury to find him.”

Steve looked over at him, not really angry but just… tired. “We can’t just wait for Fury, Sam. We don’t know what he’s gonna do when they find him, and besides, Bucky’s looking for me. If we don’t find him first, he might not even get a chance to do whatever he needs to do.”   
“And what if this thing he needs to do isn’t… y’know, beneficial to you?” he asked, looking a little uncomfortable about the turn their conversation had taken. “What if he broke out to come and… y’know…”

He sighed heavily. “He won’t. I trust him that much, at least. Besides, if he does, I’ve got you guys-” 

He was interrupted by Natasha, who set the phone down in the middle of the table. “Jackpot.”

“You found something?” Steve asked, his voice rising hopefully. Clint put down his coffee and leaned over to look. 

“Yeah. A bunch of photos, on this thing called Reddit. Anyway, you guys wanna look? You know the area better than I do, I’m sure. Maybe you can tell where he’s going.”

She handed the phone over to Steve, who started scrolling through them while Sam looked over his shoulder. “They’re not bad photos, at least,” he commented. “You can see what’s going on this time.”

Steve was too focused to say much. “I think… Sam? Isn’t that... 3rd Street? Right by the highway?” He asked after a moment, staring at the third or forth picture. 

“Yeah, you can even see the sign if you zoom in, here.” He demonstrated. 

“What would he be doing over there?” Steve asked, confused. “There’s nothing over there that he’d be interested in. Is there?”

“Well, I mean, there’s the whole Smithsonian thing. With, y’know, that entire exhibit about the two of you,” he pointed out. “Think he might want to check that out, or would it be too touristy?”

“Good point,” he conceded, sliding the phone back across the table to Natasha. “But… what do we  _ do _ ? Do we just… drive over and go pick him up, or…?”

If it had been anyone but Bucky, he would already have a plan perfectly in motion. Maybe already finished by now. But it  _ was  _ Bucky, of course it was, so of course he was reduced to a complete nervous wreck who needed three of his closest friends’ help just to figure out the basic stuff. He’d just have to deal with it the way it was, because nothing was going to help his nerves except coming up with  _ something _ . 

“Well, from the look of the pictures, they were all taken around the same area, maybe… six hours ago?” Natasha guessed. “He’s probably done at the Smithsonian by now, but if we make it over there quickly enough he might still be in the area. Of course, he might have made some kind of arrangements, but I don’t know what that would be… and we don’t have to worry about HYDRA picking him up anymore, either. So yeah, if he  _ is  _ looking for you, he’d probably still be around there while he tries to figure out how to get back to New York, if he’s not already on the way.”

Steve nodded, taking a couple breaths to try and calm his nerves. He was going to be okay. Bucky would be  _ fine.  _ He had help now, he wasn’t trying to do this on his own. They could all just haul ass over to DC, find Bucky, and bring him back. Easy. 

“Should someone stay here, in case he comes back?” Clint asked thoughtfully. “I mean, since he might be on the way already. He could just show up back at the facility or something while we’re all gone.”

“What, you wanna stay home?” Sam asked, though he didn’t sound like he really disagreed. 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Can’t hurt, right? You guys can go to DC, I’ll stay here and hold down the fort?” 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “It’s not a bad idea, I guess… I mean, we  _ could  _ use someone to keep an eye on things. But at the same time, we need all the help we can get, I mean, what if he decides to fight back?”

Steve sighed loudly. “He isn’t going to fight back, guys. You don’t need to be afraid of him or anything.”

Sam and Clint looked like they both wanted to argue but seemed to decide against it. 

“So, Clint, you stay to keep an eye on everything, I guess? You can have my apartment for now, if he’s gonna show up anywhere it’ll be there or at HQ.” 

Clint grinned. “I’ll try not to fuck it up too bad.”

Steve could hear muffled laughter from beside him, but he elected to ignore it. “That’s… a deal, I guess. Do we have anything else to talk about? Or do we just get going?” He asked. 

“Well, I mean, we’ll need, y’know, supplies and everything,” Sam pointed out. “I mean, our suits and everything are all back at HQ. What are we even supposed to do without those?”

“I got all that under control,” Natasha said, before Steve could even begin to think of an answer. “I’ll need… maybe a couple of hours? Should we meet up then, say, at your apartment, Steve?” 

He nodded. “One thirty okay? We can get going before the sun even comes up.”    
They confirmed that it would work out for them (with some complaining from Clint, admittedly), and went on their way, stopping at the counter to pay for their coffee on the way out the door. 

Steve would have thought he’d be less nervous now that they had a real  _ plan  _ in place, but  _ no.  _ If anything, he was even more terrified than he had been when he’d first seen the news report. Now this was  _ real _ . They were gonna go directly against Fury on an unauthorized rescue mission to capture the fucking  _ Winter Soldier _ , who was trying to find Steve for whatever fucking reason. God, this was fucking  _ nuts.  _ He’d be so glad when it was over, maybe he could get them to go easy on his prison sentence. Or at least put him in the same cell block as Bucky, maybe. Maybe they could have some quality time together for once, get all caught up on whatever they’d missed. That sounded fun. 

He drove back to his place alone, since Clint and Natasha went off somewhere together (presumably HQ, though he couldn’t fathom what they were planning on doing there), and Sam had gone home to get ready. 

This whole thing was starting to seem really damn familiar- after all, it wasn’t so long ago that he’d called a meeting pretty similar to that in DC, with Sam and Nat, after he’d first seen Bucky. There, much like tonight, they’d figured out what to do together and then gone their separate ways for a little while to get ready for the mission they’d planned. Hopefully this one would be… less disastrous than last time. 

He spent the time he had left waiting for the others to arrive trying to clean his place up a little- he was about to have guests over, after all. He didn’t have much else to do, anyway, and he needed  _ something  _ to do with himself so he didn’t go insane. He would have liked to have spent his time looking for more clues to Bucky’s whereabouts, but he was absolutely useless when it came to things like the Internet, and he didn’t have anyone to help him at the moment, so it was better just not to waste his time. 

He really hadn’t given much thought to what would happen after the mission, he realized. It wasn’t really something he  _ wanted  _ to think about, per se, but he needed to plan for whatever eventualities were going to come up. 

Assuming they all made it out alive (they were going to, damn it- he couldn’t let himself think otherwise even for a minute), they’d have to deal with Fury, no doubt. And that wasn’t even taking into consideration whatever it was Bucky had gone to find him for. What if HYDRA was back? That was insane, of course. Pierce was  _ dead _ . There wasn’t anyone to lead them now, no one to bring them back from their destruction. No, they were gone for good this time, he reassured himself, half-falling back onto the couch and briefly hiding his face in his hands. 

He needed to get it together,  _ now _ . The others were bound to be back soon, and he wasn’t about to let them see him like this. 

And- speak of the devil- the buzzer from downstairs rang. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo I have a plan.   
> So like. Obviously I'm not giving shit away but like. It's a plan. It's not a good plan or anything but it's a plan.   
> Anyway peace out


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky had been watching the news for himself, from inside a somewhat shady bar downtown. He watched them replay the video clip again, and again, and again… Jeez, couldn’t they get a better video, at least? He was still  _ in DC.  _ Right  _ there _ , surrounded by people with cameras literally in hand at virtually all times. Was that seriously still the best they could do, even in this century?

He ordered another drink- not that it seemed to be doing anything for him- and sat back in his seat, hardly taking his eyes off the dusty TV screen for a moment. He didn’t want to miss anything- he wanted to know as soon as they found him. Of course, he knew how the internet worked by now, but he didn’t have a way to check and see if anything about him had been posted there. So, the TV was his only option. The drinks were really just a bonus- he didn’t have anything else to spend money on now, anyway.

He was fucked, frankly. This was the end of the line for him. It had certainly taken damn long enough. Since Steve hadn’t been at his old apartment- and why would he be? He’d been in New York, at the facility, the day before- he didn’t know where to go. Steve had been the whole reason he’d left in the first place, but now… he had nothing left. All he had to do was wait.

They’d gotten the video of him. Either Steve would come for him (he shouldn’t hope- he’d just be disappointed) or whatever was left of SHIELD (whoever’s facility he’d just left?) or- God  _ forbid _ \- HYDRA… someone would figure out where he was and come find him. In the meantime, though, he was on his own. 

He was free, really  _ free _ , for the first time in seventy years, and he was spending his time in some old bar in Washington, DC, mourning the fact that he- a deadly, skilled,  _ trained assassin,  _ couldn’t manage to find  _ Captain fucking America _ . He could be doing _ anything _ right now. He had the whole world spread out around him, an entire  _ city  _ to explore- he’d already seen the Smithsonian, and that was… interesting, to say the least- the least he could do was  _ not give up _ . But that was what he’d done, wasn’t it? Having lost Steve, he’d entirely given up and retreated to this shifty-ass, empty bar to try and get drunk, which wasn’t even  _ working _ . He was just wasting what little (stolen) money he had left.

He should get out of here- he needed to, really, if he wanted to stay free. But he didn’t have even an ounce of self-preservation left, it seemed. He was going to sit here and  _ keep on drinking  _ until his money ran out, like the fucking idiot he was. Even  _ Steve  _ was too smart to do something like this. 

God,  _ Steve _ . That fucking moron. How had he even survived this long? He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes… but  _ God,  _ he missed him. He needed to see him again. That was the only thing he had left to keep him going now- the notion that Steve was alive, really  _ alive _ , and  _ safe,  _ it seemed, and maybe that he could even talk to him again. Even just one last time would be enough. 

Just to look into those sparkling, pale blue eyes one last time, to not have to see a trace of fear in them, like the last time… that would be  _ perfect.  _ He’d missed that, over all those years. He’d missed his smile, too- that cute, almost shy smile of his, that he hadn’t seen in almost a century. He’d  _ kill  _ to see it again, to see  _ him _ , and the sad part was, he might have to. 

He polished off his drink and looked away from the TV screen. He’d been  _ daydreaming. _ About  _ Steve.  _

What the hell was wrong with him? He couldn’t think of Steve as  _ cute.  _ They were grown men, the both of them. That might technically be acceptable now, for people from this time-normal people- but not for… him. 

HYDRA must have fucked him over more than he’d realized. They must have given him some sort of brain damage, with all their experiments and shit… 

He sighed and pushed his chair back, setting down his empty glass and standing up. He had to get out of here. To think about something else, maybe do something else tonight besides wallowing in self-pity or whatever the fuck this was. Maybe he could risk taking a walk. He was already getting some weird looks from a few of the other patrons, which were making him want to sink right through the floor, and which he  _ really  _ didn’t need at the moment. All he wanted now was to just disappear into some lonely, dark alley for a few hours. Maybe someone would find him. Maybe not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaaah. So this is just, like, so much angst. Next chapter might be longer. (Not making any promises that it'll be less angsty tho.) Anyway.
> 
> Peace out.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam had arrived first- unsurprisingly, since Clint had been staying over at Nat’s place, meaning that they’d probably be late, which was doubly assured by whatever Natasha had volunteered to do to get the “supplies” they needed.

He set down his bag and looked around the now practically spotless apartment, a little surprised but apparently not too much so. He could guess what had inspired Steve to take up his late-night cleaning spree. “You packed and everything?”

“Yeah.” He gestured towards his own bag, sitting on one of the dining room chairs. “I’m all set. Just gotta wait for everybody else, now. Have you seen anything else, online? About… y’know?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I think he’s keeping his head down- trying to hide. Maybe he’s still trying to find you, now that he knows you’re not at your old place.”

Steve nodded. “I hope he’s okay… we would have heard something if he got caught, right?” he asked hopefully.

“Yeah, it would be all over the news by now. We’d know.”

He let out a breath, reassured. “Yeah. He’s okay. Just… biding his time.”

“We still need a plan for when we get there,” he pointed out. “I think… I think this part’s on you, Steve. We don’t know him like you do.”

He sighed. “You’re right… I know, you’re right. But I’m going to need help, you know. I can’t just come up with all this stuff on my own. I’m gonna need you guys’ opinions.”

“Of course,” he promised. “We’ll help however we can.”

He was about to say something else- thank him, maybe- but he was interrupted by a loud crash and what sounded like whispering from another room. “I-I’ll be right back.”

He already had a pretty good guess as to who it was, of course, but he had to be sure. He crept down the hall, followed at a distance by Sam.

Sure enough, there were Nat and Clint, standing in the doorway to the bathroom. Well, _Nat_ was standing. Clint was sitting on his ass on the tile floor, which explained the source of the noise pretty well.

Steve cleared his throat and they both looked up at him, mortified. Clint swore under his breath. “What’s wrong with using the elevator like normal people?” he asked pointedly, looking over Natasha’s shoulder at the open window.

“Security,” she explained, picking something up from the bathroom counter behind her. “Didn’t want anybody to see us after what we just did at HQ, connect any dots…”

Clint shrugged. “Anyway, just ‘cause we _can_ use the elevator, why would we, when we can climb up, like, five stories and come in through your bathroom window?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Well, I mean, that too. But anyway, you should check these out… And we need to hurry, it’s getting late.”

Steve and Sam closed the distance between them and went to see what she was holding. At first glance, it seemed like a regular duffel bag, but it… wasn’t. The basic structure was the same, but it seemed to be made of some thicker, sturdier material.

“May I?”

Natasha handed it over. “Take a look inside, if you want.”

He unzipped it and looked inside. It was _heavy_ , so much so that a normal person probably wouldn’t even be able to carry it. It was filled with a series of small, black cases, each made of shiny, black metal.

“What _are_ those?”

“We fucked up at HQ, had to scrap our original plan. We went back home and got these instead.” She reached into the bag and pulled out one of the little cases, flipping it open one-handed. Inside, there was what looked like a taser, separated into four little segments and laid out on the black velvet lining of the case.

“What…?” Sam was looking over his shoulder, apparently as confused as Steve was.

“Tony made them for me, couple of years back. Well, they weren’t _for me_ , per se, but he thought they’d suit me best, ‘cause he doesn’t need them. He wanted me to have them. Said to think of it as an early Christmas present.” She shrugged. “They’re all different, ranging from these guys-” she gestured towards the case with her free hand- “To one of about the same size and caliber as an assault rifle. They run on the same power system as his suits.”

He picked up one of the pieces and inspected it. Sure enough, there were a few little blue, glowing pieces on the edge. If he didn’t know better, he’d say they were some kind of precious stone. “Do they… do they need ammunition or anything?” he asked.

“Nah. They’re like his repulsors. I dunno how they work, exactly, but they’re _incredible_. Pepper almost banned me from their shooting range because I kept destroying the targets.”

“We’re _not_ using these on Bucky,” he said firmly, putting the little piece of metal back in the case. “I know he’s done… terrible things, but- he’s not that guy anymore. We’re not gonna do that to him.”

She sighed, looking over at Clint, then Sam, then back at Steve. “He could still be dangerous, Steve. We don’t know what his agenda is or how HYDRA affected him. We can’t make any promises like that. It might put one of _us_ in danger.”

He glared at her, still holding onto the bag. “You were with him the other day, weren’t you? And before that, even? You’ve seen what he’s like. From what _you’ve_ told me, he’s fine now. He’s done fighting.”

“He sure as hell isn't _fine._ And what if he was just biding his time, Steve?” she demanded. “What if he was trying to lull us into a false sense of security so he had the right chance to do… whatever he’s planning on doing?”

“He isn’t _like_ that!” Steve insisted, still staring her down. “He doesn’t think that way, I swear! Don’t you think I know him better than you do, after all this time?”

She shook her head. “Steve. Steve, listen to me.”

He raised his eyebrows, apparently waiting for her to say whatever it was she wanted to say.

“He’s not the person he used to be, Steve. I know that’s not easy for you to hear, but… You can’t just trust that he’s clean now that he’s been quiet for so long. He might still be dangerous. We don’t _know,_ and we can’t take any chances.”

He wanted to yell at her, to argue, to tell her that even if Bucky had been with HYDRA, even if he’d changed a little, he was still the same guy underneath. But it was _no use_ , clearly. He’d just have to stop her when- if- she tried to pull a weapon on him. “Fine. Let’s get going, we’re wasting time.”

They needed to leave, and soon- before Bucky vanished completely off the grid. “You guys got everything you need? Money, clothes, all that?”

Clint stood up from the floor, hoisting his backpack straps further up on his shoulders. “I guess…?”

Sam nodded. “I triple-checked before we left. I’m good. What about you, Steve?”  
He glanced back over his shoulder, towards the living room. “My bag is packed, too. Whose car are we taking?”

He expected Nat or Sam to volunteer, but Clint spoke up. “I rented a mini van the other day. You can use that… it’s a little more under-the-radar. I’m not gonna need it if I’m staying here.”

Steve nodded. “All right… if something happens, I can pay for it, no problem. You got the keys, right?”

He dug them out of his back pocket and handed them over. “Be careful. I’ve already got a bad rap with these guys.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Didn’t they threaten to sue you if you wreck another one of their cars?”

“Like I said, be careful.”

Steve slipped the keys into his pocket. “I’ll keep that in mind. I guess… that’s it then? We just… head out?” He _was_ anxious to leave. He had been ever since he’d first seen the news report. All he wanted to do was get away from his apartment- away from New York- and try to make some progress on finding Bucky. The sooner they got over to DC (where Bucky was!) the better: his nerves would surely start to calm down once he knew they had some real chance at finding him. Right? Besides, they were wasting time. Bucky could already have a plan, hell, he could be on the move again. If they waited too long, they were gonna miss him entirely.

“Yeah… guess so.” Nat’s voice was a little distant- she was obviously lost in thought. About what, exactly, Steve couldn’t begin to guess. “The car’s down by the street. Parked it in that little alley, y’know, right out the window.” She gestured towards the bathroom window, below which Steve knew there was, in fact, a small alley that led out to the street.

“You suggesting we _climb_ down?” Sam asked, incredulous.

She nodded. “Next to no chance of being seen that way. There are cameras outside. And in the parking garage. And the lobby,” she pointed out. “You boys got your stuff?”  
“I- I gotta go and get it. You guys wait here.” Without another word, he turned and headed back down the hall, intending to grab his and Sam’s bags and come right back, so they could finally be off in a minute or two.

He actually made it into the dining room, grabbed their bags from over by the table, and started heading back before he noticed that anything was different. The whole apartment was suddenly _icy_ cold, and weirdly humid. Now, an open window would account for that, but the one in the bathroom was too far away, and he was always careful to keep his doors and windows shut and locked at all times. The place had been warm and dry when he’d gone to investigate Clint and Natasha, so this was definitely a recent development, but… where was it coming from? He hadn’t seen anything.

He wanted to go back to the bathroom and get help- he’d rather literally anyone else dealt with an intruder other than himself, but that was hardly fair. It was his apartment, after all. If there _was_ an intruder, they were after him, so he should be the one to take care of it. Besides, if they’d just arrived, it was possible that they wouldn’t even know he wasn’t alone, which might be an advantage against them in a fight. He just needed to figure out where the hell they _were_.

Shivering a little- the temperature outside had dropped in the last few hours- he slowly made his way through the apartment, clutching the pistol from his bag.

_God, could they have chosen a worse fucking time to break into his apartment?_ He had a job to do, damn it. He didn’t need to get held up by whoever the fuck this was- for all he knew it was just a couple of fangirls looking for autographs.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think so. These guys were _way_ too good at keeping quiet and staying hidden. He was worried that they might be professionals, which would raise a whole new set of problems for everyone.

The air seemed to get colder as he neared the kitchen. He clutched the ice-cold grip of the pistol in his right hand, his finger twitching slightly against the trigger as he slowly and silently made his way closer. He was _sure_ someone was in there. There weren’t many other places for them to be, really- he’d checked nearly everywhere else already, after all. His apartment wasn’t very large. The only other two rooms left were the bathroom and the bedroom down the hall, and if they’d gone down there, they surely would have run into Natasha, Clint, and Sam. He didn’t think they’d just break in and leave again without doing anything to him, either. It was possible that they’d gotten scared, of course, but that seemed unlikely. For them to have come up through a fifth-floor window- well, that took _skill._ Professional skill. Not from the kind of person who would get that far only to give up. It was also possible that they were trying to rob the place, of course, but who would do that while someone was obviously home?

No, something was _wrong_ here. He just had to deal with it quickly and get going. He realized that he’d hesitated outside the kitchen door for far too long- someone on the other side might have heard him. The door was ajar, warm, golden light (had he left that light on?) spilling out into the darkened dining room. He didn’t hear anything on the other side… he took a deep- silent- breath, and pushed it open.

At first glance, the kitchen was empty, and his heart rate had dropped almost back to normal before he saw the man still standing at the other end of the room, next to the still-open window.

“ _Bucky?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya ok so... that was a plot twist. It literally just occurred to me as I was finishing the chapter so I had to go back and start over holy fuck isnt that great :)
> 
> It's still really short tho lol. next one will be longer i got a lot to write about now
> 
> peace... OUT.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rest in peace, Stan Lee. You will be missed.

Steve felt his fingers go slack and the gun clattered to the floor. The noise echoed slightly around the unusually tidy room, creating an eerie effect. Luckily the safety was still on, or else it probably would have discharged most likely would have hit one of them. 

He left the pistol where it was and stumbled into the room, stepping over it without even really thinking about picking it up. He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, still easily ten feet away from Bucky, who watched him with empty, bloodshot eyes. 

He seemed almost like a hallucination- so thin and pale, with that awful metal arm glistening a little in the low light… his eyes seemed almost sunken, and the look in them was one he’d never seen on a living person before- a good amount of fear, maybe dread. Certainly some sadness. But there was hope, too, which was what seemed completely unreal about the whole thing. His eyes still sparkled a little, just the way they used to. The way he remembered. 

Something seemed to turn over in his chest as he realized that this  _ wasn’t  _ a hallucination. It was all entirely too real- if he were imagining him, he’d be the way he remembered him from back when they were kids, back in Brooklyn. But this… this version of him was so  _ real.  _ He couldn’t make this up, he knew. He wouldn’t be able to imagine Bucky this beaten down, this… broken. It was really  _ him.  _

“Bucky,” he said again, an edge of something almost desperate in his voice. 

  
  


“Steve.” His voice was harsh and raspy from lack of use- he could hardly stand the sound of it. 

He looked across the kitchen, staring straight into Steve’s eyes. He could hardly even believe this was happening- for all the time he’d spent dreaming about it, hoping for it, even… he’d never expected to make it this far. 

But the way Steve was looking at him… it was like some combination of shock, horror, disbelief, maybe even fear. He’d been an idiot to expect Steve to be happy to see him, of course, but it still stung a little. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have come, after all. He might have been better off just staying away, trying to find some other way to get by. He didn’t need Steve’s help. This was just going to hurt even  _ more _ . Maybe it wasn’t too late to leave again?

But no, Steve was saying something else. “Buck, I…” He stopped for a moment, seemingly trying to regain his composure. “What are you doing here?”

His chest seemed to tighten a little at the sound of the nickname. He looked away, swallowing hard. “I- I wanted to find you. I just… I needed to get away from SHIELD, or whatever they are, and… this was the only place I could think of to go.” God, now that the words were out of his mouth he just wanted to take them back. He  _ never  _ should have come here. He should have stayed in DC. Or at least bothered to come up with a better excuse- the implied, unsaid-yet-obvious ‘ _ I missed you _ ,’ that was a little much. Especially coming from him, probably the absolute last person Steve would want to see, especially after what he’d done. 

“Y-you can stay here,” he said suddenly. “Of course you can stay with us- with me. Well, I mean… staying here would probably be a bad idea, I mean, if you’re gonna hide from Fury this is one of the first places he’ll look, but of  _ course  _ you can stay. I was just going to find you, actually. In-”

Bucky cut him off. “Steve… Steve, you’re right. I’m just going to put you in danger. I’ll get out of here.” Without another word, he turned to climb back through the window. 

Steve moved forward another couple of steps, before stopping somewhat jerkily. “Buck,  _ wait. _ ” His voice was pleading. “Bucky… you’re safer with me than you’d be on your own. Please, stay.” 

He stopped, one hand on the edge of the window. Steve looked so damn  _ desperate,  _ and he really didn’t understand why, but faced with that expression- wide eyed, shoulders tense, lips practically quivering- he’d do  _ anything  _ to help. Of course, there wasn’t much of anything he could do. It would be so much safer for the both of them if he just left, now, before someone came to find him. Still… it was enough to give him pause, at least, even if he hated it.  _ Damn it, Barnes, you’re supposed to be a stone-cold, emotionless assassin.  _ He shouldn’t let things like this get to him… but it was  _ Steve.  _ The  _ one person _ he was practically sworn to protect, had been for so long- even if he’d fucked that up a little- and that was a hard thing to let go of. 

He let out a defeated sigh. “Steve, really-” There was no fight left in his words, no emotion of any kind- “Steve, it isn’t… it’s not  _ safe _ .”

Steve opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted mid-sentence by a voice from the doorway opposite the window. 

“Steve, what the hell is-”

_Romanoff_. Bucky watched as he turned around, a panicked expression on his face, followed his eyes to the doorway, where, to his absolute  _ horror _ , there was the woman from the other day. His eyes followed her hand as it slowly lifted from waist-level and pointed something… directly at him.

That was a gun. She was going to shoot him, he thought hazily. What a perfect solution to all his problems… 

  
  


_ “NO!”  _ Steve  screamed, stepping sideways and putting himself right in between her and Bucky. “Natasha-”

“Steve.” She stared him right in the eye, not lowering her weapon or even moving a muscle. “I need you to move. He’s still dangerous. I don’t want you getting hurt.”   
“Natasha, please-” His voice was pleading. He was ready to beg her not to hurt him. Behind him, he couldn’t hear any movement from Bucky, just quick, shallow breathing. “Natasha, put it  _ down _ . He isn’t going to hurt anyone.”

She gave no sign of having even heard him. “Barnes, I won’t hurt you if you cooperate. I need you to come over here and stand in the middle of the kitchen with your hands behind your head. If you’ve got a weapon, drop it now. I’m not going to warn you again.”

Her voice was icy cold- she  _ wasn’t  _ fooling around. Hopefully… hopefully, Bucky would just decide to cooperate, and things wouldn’t go downhill. But if they did, well- he’d deal with that when it came up. 

There was a clattering sound from behind him. Bucky had dropped something small and metal on the floor. Steve stood aside to let him walk by, watching as he stopped in the middle of the room and slowly put his hands up behind his head. 

Natasha didn’t lower the gun, though her confidence seemed to falter a little. She clearly hadn’t expected him to go this easily. “Right.” 

She thought for a moment, apparently trying to decide on a course of action, and Steve took his opportunity to speak up. 

“Nat? People are looking for him, Nat. We gotta get out of here.” 

She stared at him over Bucky’s shoulder. “We should turn him in.”

When he opened his mouth to object, she cut him off. “He broke into your apartment in the middle of the night, Steve. No warning or anything. Just… snuck in. Listen, I know what he means to you, but the man you know wouldn’t be trying to hurt you. It’s safer for everyone just to bring him back. It’s the right thing to do.” She looked guilty, but resolute. 

He watched them both for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. 

“I didn’t come here to hurt anyone.” Bucky's voice was quiet, and a little shaky. 

“Then… why  _ are  _ you here?” she asked, a little harshly. 

“I wanted…” he paused, sounding uncertain. “I need help. I don’t have anywhere else to go but here. I just… I  _ had  _ to get away from the facility. You- you wouldn’t understand…”

Steve swallowed, hard. “Natasha, please,  _ let me help him _ . He’s being honest, he doesn’t mean any harm. It’s- well, I’m not gonna lie, it isn’t safe, but he’s not the one you need to be worried about.”

She glared at him over Bucky’s shoulder. Poor Bucky… he looked a little lost, caught in the middle of their argument like this. “He’s the source of the problem, Steve. If he hadn’t made a break for it, we wouldn’t have anyone to worry about. The only reason anyone’s after him now is that he escaped. He’s the villain here, why can’t you see that? Everyone else is just doing their jobs, and why wouldn’t they? He’s a  _ deranged assassin _ , and you’re completely blind to that.” Her voice got steadily colder as she talked, sounding as though she were just barely keeping herself under control. 

Bucky listened to her talk, his face blank and expressionless, not bothering to speak up for himself. 

“I’m not just going to try and hide him forever,” Steve pointed out, his voice a little impatient. “I’m going to keep him away from law enforcement long enough that they de-prioritize the search for him, and then… then I can figure out what to do.”

“That’s your plan?” she demanded, actually glaring at him now. 

“As opposed to yours? You’re just going to turn him in to the authorities? After everything he’s been through. He  _ fought off the Winter Soldier,  _ Natasha.”

She still had yet to lower her gun. “After he’s killed… how many people? Hundreds by now, I’m sure. How hard is it to understand, Steve? He’s  _ dangerous _ .”

He glared back at her, grateful that Bucky’s back was turned to him so that he couldn’t see his expression- he didn’t want him to see just how much her words hurt. Actually, he’d prefer that  _ she  _ didn’t see, either, but that couldn’t be helped. 

“I know exactly what he’s done. I know what he’s been through, I know  _ all of it.  _ But… he’s not- he isn’t HYDRA’s weapon anymore. He’s back in control. He’s not going to hurt anyone else, not if- not if we try to protect him. But we can’t  _ do  _ that by just turning him in to the authorities. I know he had a reason for leaving, and even if I don’t know what it was, I trust him. I need to protect him, Natasha. Now that I’ve got another chance to do that… maybe I’ll be able to keep him safe, this time.” 

She sighed, defeated, apparently deciding he wasn’t going to give up. “All right. I know how much he means to you. We can try to hide him as best we can but if he does  _ anything  _ to change my mind, you’re on your own.” She slowly lowered her weapon, still holding it at the ready as though she expected to be attacked. 

“Okay.” he sighed. “We need… do Sam and Clint know what’s going on?” 

She shook her head. “They probably can’t hear us from all the way over there. As far as they know I just went to see what was taking you so long. I don’t want to leave you two, but-”

He cut her off, his voice rising in irritation. “We’ll be fine, okay? Go and tell them what’s going on.”

“Fine. It’s your life, not mine.” She turned to leave without another word, and Bucky watched her go for a moment before slowly lowering his hands and turning back around to face Steve.

“Buck, I’m- I’m sorry about Natasha. She’s… well, she’s been through a lot. She has trouble trusting people, sometimes. I- are you okay?” He asked gently. 

He nodded. “I- I’m fine, Steve. And- I’m sorry,” he said haltingly, “I never… never should have come here. It was dangerous for everyone. They’ll be here soon, I should-”

“No, no, you’re not leaving yet,” he said hastily. “You’ll be safer with us. Plus, y’know… we’ve got the law on our side. Having us there to fight for you will be better than being alone.”

He sighed, clearly frustrated. “Steve. I…  _ I  _ might attack you. I don’t- I don’t know if-”

He cut him off. “Bucky… even if you- even if you  _ do _ … It’s you against the four of us. And HYDRA’s gone, so it’s not…” he stopped, uncertain, before collecting himself again. “You’re not gonna hurt anyone, okay? According to Natasha you’ve been perfectly calm and rational, outside of nightmares, ever since you were taken into custody. It’ll be okay, I promise.”

He shook his head. “Steve, we shouldn’t- It’s  _ risky _ .”   
Steve raised an eyebrow. “What part of this  _ isn’t _ ? You’ve already escaped the facility. Interpol’s _been_  looking for you.  _ This part _ \- this part is nothing.” 

He felt a little guilty for reminding him, really. Maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut. It felt like they were on thin ice as it was, and this, maybe this was making it worse. Judging by Bucky’s pained expression, it certainly wasn’t making things better for anyone. 

“Steve, it’s all risky. Which is why I should just  _ leave.  _ It’s easier that way, if you just never hear from me again, maybe things will turn out all right for everyone else after all. At least then I know you’ll be safe, and me… well, maybe I can make it on my own, too. It’s better than whatever your guys had planned for me.”

He didn’t like the way Bucky had said ‘maybe’- it sounded so fragile, so… uncertain. 

“Bucky, listen to me. None of this is  _ guaranteed. _ They might figure out you’ve been here, they might connect the dots later and come after me and Sam and Nat and even  _ Clint _ , if he’s still at Nat’s place by then… Anyway, my point is if we just stick together, just this once, we can see this thing through to the end and we can make sure things turn out okay for all of us. Not just whoever you think deserves it.”

He sighed wearily, looking down at the stark white tile floor beneath his boots. “You’re such a god damn  _ idiot _ ,” he half-mumbled, though his words really didn’t have any real emotion behind them. “If you get yourself killed I’m not gonna forgive you.”

 

He’d given up on trying to talk Steve out of it- when he got like this, he was almost impossible to handle. He remembered that, and to be quite honest he was proud of it. He  _ recognized  _ the fiery, stubborn look in his eyes when he’d said all that, about how they needed to stick together if he wanted to survive, and _damn,_ it had brought back memories. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all, even if he wasn’t exactly in friendly territory. Because Steve- from what he could tell, anyway- wasn’t about to give up on him again. Maybe he’d be able to really trust him, eventually. It was already hard not to, after everything. It was already drilled even deeper into his brain than HYDRA’s conditioning, and it wasn’t easy to fight. He kept having to remind himself that people changed, that even if he was willing to help his motivations could have changed completely… he’d already caved once, coming here- he was still kicking himself for that- and  _ again  _ by deciding to stay. 

Maybe  _ he  _ was the fucking idiot in the equation, not Steve. Steve… he just seemed misguided. Smart, and brave, and kind-hearted, and maybe a little stuck in the past, but totally misguided. And it was going to come back and totally fuck him over one day soon. 

But until then, maybe he could just go along with it and focus on minimizing the damage, because, well… he didn’t have it in him to say no. As stupid as that was. 

Part of him hoped Natasha would just decide to stop him. It would be easier that way, and he wouldn’t have to take responsibility for it. Even if it landed him back in prison. 

But until then, he had  _ Steve _ , and for the moment at least it seemed like they might be safe. He could just enjoy their couple of weeks together, before someone caught up to them or turned them in, and it was all over. 

He knew he shouldn’t think of it that way- Steve was protection, not… not  _ company.  _ There was a difference. He was an ally, not a friend. Not after everything. Even if he was so ready to offer help, that could only go so far. When it came down to it, he was totally on his own, and he just needed to accept that. 

Steve grinned, and Bucky’s heart seemed to drop into the pit of his stomach. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I guess… I guess we should find everybody else and see what’s going on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo does anybody know of any good (eg, professional) dyslexia-friendly fonts? Cause I'm fuckin sick of writing my drafts in this google docs default sans-serif bullshit. Just, like, drop a comment or some shit.   
> Peace out


	7. Chapter 7

Natasha had gone back to the bathroom, where Clint- he recognized him from the facility- was sitting on the counter and some other guy (a friend of theirs?) was leaning on the wall. All three of them were watching the door, and none of them said a word as Bucky and Steve approached. 

“Um… hey, guys,” Steve half-mumbled. 

Clint quickly slid off the counter as he spotted Bucky over Steve’s shoulder. The way he was staring, his defensive posture- the way his shoulders were obviously tense and his eyes had gone narrow- made him want to hide behind Steve even more than he already was. And he wasn’t even looking at Natasha or the third guy yet. 

“You guys got a new plan, or…?” 

Steve shook his head, stepping sideways a little to bring Bucky into view. He wanted nothing more than to sink into the hardwood floor of the hallway and disappear forever, but… what could he do? 

Steve was talking.  _ Shit.  _ “We… hoped you’d have some kind of idea.”

Clint looked like he was about to say something, but Natasha cut him off. “We need to  _ get out of here _ . It’s dangerous, having him with us-” she gestured towards Bucky, and he looked away- “And we’re far too traceable at this apartment. We need to get away from here.”

“But… where?” Steve’s voice was a little tremulous. 

“We’ve got my place,” the third guy said softly, kind of tentatively. 

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to do that? What if they decide to look for him there?”

“They won’t,” he assured her. “They trust me. I’ve got nothing to do with this, as far as they know, except I know Cap.”

_ Cap? People still called him that?  _

“But what if they figure it out?” She asked. 

“Then I’ll be the first one to know,” he pointed out. “They’re gonna question me about it, they’re not gonna come barging into my  _ house _ . If I have to, I’ll stall for time and find a way to warn you guys about what’s happening, you can find somewhere else to move him. It’ll work out just fine.”

She sighed. “There’s a million ways that could go wrong, Wilson. We’d be better off just turning him in.”

Bucky felt Steve tense up beside him. 

Wilson stayed calm. Damn, it was hard to tell whose side he was on here. “You got a better idea?”

Clint spoke up. “No, no one has a better idea. Now let’s  _ go _ . Police and shit are gonna be here any minute. We’re packed and everything, so… no big deal, right? We can just leave?”

He waited for someone to say something, to suggest (again) that they just head back to HQ, but it was silent. Even Natasha seemed to be thinking things over. 

Finally, she spoke again. “Steve?”

He nodded. “We should- we should go. Someone might be over to check the place out. I don’t want Bucky to be around when they get here.”

No one had asked if it was all right with him, which was perfectly fine. He  _ wanted  _ decisions to be made for him, he’d even started to miss the certain... lack of autonomy he’d had while at HYDRA. Maybe it could continue for a little longer, hopefully he wouldn’t have to make to many more decisions while he was… wherever he was going. It was relaxing, in a way, not to have to worry about what was going to happen, because even if it mattered (hell, it was a life-or-death situation) it was  _ beyond his control _ . Sounded downright luxurious, to be entirely honest. 

  
  


When they arrived at the house- Sam’s, the third guy, who introduced himself before they'd left- Bucky was starting to feel a little… out of it. Shaky, nauseous… ready to pass out. The whole package. He didn’t dare say a word about it to anyone. Natasha had driven him and Sam in her rental minivan, and Steve and Clint had opted to walk over. They hadn't arrived yet. 

Steve had reasoned that they should split up, and that they should use the rental, so that they’d be harder to trace and someone would be able to rescue the others if they were caught at any point during the trip, but Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something else, that he didn’t want to be near him. That he was  _ afraid _ . He didn’t blame him. 

He staggered into the house, helping to bring some of the bags- Steve’s, he thought- inside. It was the least he could do. Sam gestured for him to just set them on the floor by the door. 

“We can move them later. Don’t worry about it.” 

He nodded absentmindedly, turning to look as Natasha came inside, carrying her own bag and shutting the door behind her with her foot. She set the bag on top of Steve’s and looked around as though deciding what to do. “Do we… know where Clint and Steve are?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it’s not far. Couple miles? They should be here soon. No one was out, probably ‘cause of… you know.”

He meant the alert they’d put out, about him. It made sense, for people to be afraid, to stay inside. After so many innocent people being killed last time, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t blame them in the slightest. He almost felt guilty, even, that he’d caused everyone so much trouble…

God, he didn’t feel good. He felt like absolute  _ shit _ , actually. His head hurt, his shoulder hurt, he was still fucking _nauseous,_ everything was too warm and kind of fuzzy, his vision had gone white and grainy… he was unconscious before he could even feel his knees begin to buckle, and then he hit the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorryyyyyy it's really short
> 
> by the way, i read a thing on tumblr about why people dont give feedback on smaller works like i guess they used to (cause like, they don't wanna bother people n shit) and if that's you, dude, lemme tell you i'd die for some constructive criticism rn. go right ahead and bother me i love it
> 
> peace out


	8. Chapter 8

Steve and Clint walked over to Sam’s together, after loading their bags into the car. It started to rain just as soon as they headed off. 

“Can’t believe you passed up a ride in a perfectly good  _ minivan _ ,” Clint grumbled. “Coulda fit all of us, no problem.”

“That’s not the point,” he said, maybe a little more roughly than he meant to. 

Clint looked over at him, wincing a little as a drop of rain hit him in the eye. “Sorry.” He looked contrite, which made Steve feel a little bit guilty. 

They walked for a couple of mostly deserted blocks in awkward silence, which was finally broken (again) by Clint. “Steve… something’s- something’s bothering you, isn’t it?” he said haltingly. 

He nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted. “A lot of stuff’s bothering me, I gotta admit, but… I just, I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing, helping Bucky, you know? I think I can trust him, I  _ hope  _ I can trust him, I dunno what I’m gonna do if I can’t, but… He said he needed help and I don’t know if we should try to help him or if we just need to turn him in. Maybe… Nat’s right? What if he  _ is  _ dangerous?”

“Steve,” he said, his voice gentle. “Steve, Nat’s… she’s  _ not  _ right about this. He’s not gonna hurt anyone. If he wanted to, he would have done that already. Or he’d’a brought people with him, when he came to find you. You know who he was… if he wanted to hurt us he’s more than capable. You’re just protecting your friend, and even if he’s _not_ innocent… I understand that. You’re doing the right thing, trust me.”

He sighed. “But… I dunno. I just- I really don’t wanna be  _ wrong _ , you know?” 

“If you are, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“I could-” he swallowed, hard, determinedly looking anywhere but at Clint. “I could lose him again. I might lose him, anyway.”

He nodded, slowly, he could see him in his peripheral vision. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” It wasn’t a question- Clint already knew the answer.

“He- he does?” Steve didn't know what to say to that. Or even what he'd  _ meant _ . Clint had always been intuitive, but  _ how  _ intuitive? Of course, he’d talked about Bucky plenty, maybe more than would be considered ‘normal’- everything he could think of to talk about, about back in the ‘40’s, and before that. Even the war. To anyone who would listen, practically- including Clint.  _Especially_ Clint. So maybe he’d picked up on some of the… feelings he might’ve had?  _ Might've. Had. _  Not any longer. But still, what if he  _ did  _ notice something…? He couldn’t-  _ could not _ \- think about what could happen if he noticed, never mind if he said anything to anyone… 

“Steve?” 

“Uh, shit, sorry.” He turned to look at him again. “I just- got distracted for a second. Did you say something?”

“It was… nothing. Don’t worry about it.” 

Steve fell silent, relieved that he wasn’t going to press the subject and more than a little sorry that he’d let on that anything was wrong. The only downside to this, however, was that he was alone with his thoughts now. 

He had a lot on his mind, and this new exchange with Clint was a brand-new reminder that he’d have to watch himself around Bucky, particularly when other people were around. He’d done all right before, he thought. Stepping in front of Nat’s gun had been maybe a little… melodramatic, but it hadn’t hurt. Now he just had to keep that up for who  _ knew  _ how long. Never mind if he actually  _ had  _ feelings anymore- or at all- or if he’d just missed him. 

He’d find out soon enough, he was sure. They’d be spending plenty of time together now, so it would be  _ easy _ to figure out how he felt about things. It wouldn’t even be a big deal, he thought. Just a yes-or-no question. He could flip a coin and he might very well get an accurate answer. 

 

He was lost in thought the rest of the walk over. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary at Sam’s house, aside from the van parked in the street. Everyone else must have made it back quite a while before him and Clint, after all, there was hardly any traffic. That was odd, even for so late at night- Sam lived in a busy part of town. 

Steve had the keys to the front door, so they let themselves in. Sam and Natasha were in the living room, bending over something on the couch, which faced away from the doorway. Clint pushed past him to see what was going on. 

“Guys?” Steve asked anxiously, “Where’s Bucky?” 

Natasha looked up at him, then over at Clint. “He passed out. Come and see.”

Sam stood back to let him pass. “We don’t know what’s wrong with him. He was fine just… ten minutes ago, and then we turn around and he’s on the floor. I think it might just be shock, from escaping from HQ and then finding you and coming here. It’s… It’s hard to tell, just yet. He’s okay,” he added hastily at the panicked look on Steve’s face. “He’s fine. Just… unconscious. Aside from that everything’s pretty normal. His pulse is a little fast- Nat checked- but she thinks it’s just like yours.”

Natasha nodded. “He should be waking up soon. Sam wanted to pour cold water on him but I vetoed it.”

As if her words had caught his attention, Bucky’s eyelids fluttered open. He blinked up at them hazily. “Steve…?”

“Hey, pal.” He knelt down next to the couch, at his eye level. 

The others stood back, though they were still obviously tense and ready to spring into action. 

He tried to sit up, a little shaky, but Steve put his hand on his shoulder and gently held him still. Which was probably a bad move on his part, while he still didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t want him hurting himself. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, his hand resting on his arm.

“I don’t know,” he said faintly, not moving away from Steve. 

He removed his hand anyway. “Nat and Sam said you seem okay. You just… passed out.”

Bucky nodded. “I’m okay, Steve. Just passed out.” He looked a little more conscious now, even if he hadn’t tried to sit up again yet. 

Steve sighed. “You know what year it is?” Expecting him to know a specific date was most likely too much, for now, since he figured he probably hadn’t had time to look at a newspaper yet.

“2014…?” It had taken him a moment. 

He nodded. “Yeah. 2014.” He smiled, a little sadly. “The future, I guess. We’re here.”

The ghost of a grin crossed his lips. “No flying cars?”

“They’re working on it.”

Steve’s heart was pounding in his chest. Bucky was right there,  _ right there _ , and all he had to do was reach out and touch him. His face was so close, hardly a foot away from his own. And he was so  _ real,  _ albeit bedraggled and barely conscious, but that was what made him seem so solid and reassuring. Steve couldn’t imagine him this way, not if he wanted to, no, he still pictured him with his short, neat hair, in his 1940’s clothes, in their old apartment. But it was him, he couldn’t deny it. 

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice soft and hoarse. 

“We’re at Sam’s.” 

“Looks like 3401.”

Steve’s throat went dry. “It’s… not. It’s built the same way. Same company, I think. Gotta be. Actually, we’re pretty close by, but it’s not…  _ there _ . It’s gone.” He was surprised that Bucky remembered, maybe the damage HYDRA had done wasn’t as extensive as they’d thought, if his memory loss didn’t extend to after he’d left. 

“I know. But it looks like it.”

“I’m sorry.” he sighed. “I didn’t think of that. Shoulda remembered.”

“‘S okay, Steve. Doesn’t matter.”

But it  _ did  _ matter, to Steve, anyway. 3401 had been the safe house where he’d briefly stayed with Bucky after trying to rescue him from HYDRA a few months ago. It had been destroyed, in HYDRA’s attempt to recapture them, killing some passerby in the process. Sam, Clint, and Nat had arrived as backup, and… the rest was pretty much history- Steve, badly injured, was delivered to a nearby private hospital, at Fury’s direction, and Bucky had been detained until very recently. What mattered, though, was that this place looked  _ exactly _ like 3401, if a little more lived-in. He hardly cared, he was preoccupied, but Bucky? Seeing the place again, essentially, even if it  _ was  _ destroyed, had to bring back some bad memories. 

“I- okay. You need anything, while I’m here?” Everyone else was gone, he assumed they’d decided to unpack everything while he was with Bucky. He felt kind of guilty for not helping, if that was what they were doing, but he’d been busy. 

Bucky sat up again, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Asprin?”

He nodded, standing up again. “I’ll be back in a second, all right? Don’t pass out again while I’m gone.”

He smiled, just slightly, and nodded. 

When Steve came back with the ibuprofen (the closest thing Sam had to asprin) and a glass of water, he was sitting exactly where he’d left him. He was looking around the living room with a lost expression on his face, and Steve had to say his name a couple of times before he turned to look at him. 

“Shit, sorry, Steve.”

He handed him the pills and the water. “It’s okay, Buck. Don’t worry about it.”

Bucky swallowed the pills dry and washed them down with half the glass of water, setting it down on the coffee table. He suddenly looked uncomfortable, and really it was anyone’s guess why but Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault. 

He sat down in a chair near the couch, wanting to be near Bucky but not too close, afraid of scaring him. 

“You got somewhere for me to sleep?” he asked, finally, looking over at Steve again. 

“I- I dunno. I’d… have to ask Sam.” Where  _ were  _ they going to sleep? Sam’s house was pretty small: two bedrooms, one of which he used to store exercise equipment, and the other one was his. He supposed one of them could sleep on the couch, but… that didn’t leave much room for anyone else. He and Bucky could share a bed, he thought wryly. Like in one of those bad romance novels Natasha liked to read. 

“What time is it?” he asked, glancing towards the dark living room windows. 

“‘Bout… two thirty?” 

“Right.” He nodded. “Should probably look into getting some sleep tonight.”

He  _ did  _ look exhausted, and a little the worse for wear after passing out. Steve imagined he didn’t look much better- it had been a wild night. 

“Yeah. I’ll go and talk to Sam. Be back in a few minutes, all right?” 

Bucky nodded. 

Steve got back up from his chair and went to go and find Sam. He was sitting on the floor in the spare bedroom, reading something on his phone. He looked up when he heard the door open. 

“There are a ton of false reports of Bucky still being in DC. They’re… all over. It’s crazy, we’re lucky no one’s caught on yet.”

Steve knelt down beside him on the floor, looking over his shoulder. “That’s… weird. He’s… pretty easy to spot. Kinda stands out.”

Sam shrugged. “Who cares? Just be glad everybody’s over there.”   
He sighed. “Yeah. But we still gotta be careful…”

“I know, Steve. Did ya come over here for a reason?”

He’d forgotten, momentarily. “Right. Yeah. Where are we all gonna sleep?”

Sam looked for a moment like he was going to make some sort of smart remark, before closing his mouth again and seemingly thinking for a moment. “I’ve got my room… there’s the living room and the spare room. If you guys all want to stay we can work things out, no big deal, but a lot of people are gonna have to sleep on the floor.”

 

Clint and Nat ended up staying over, after all, making the point that it would look (Clint’s words) “really fucking suspicious” if they left so soon after arriving, with both of them in the van as opposed to Natasha driving and Clint walking again. Which was a valid point, but it created nearly as many new problems as it solved. 

In the end, they decided to put Steve and Bucky in the living room- Bucky on the couch and Steve on the floor. Bucky had been quiet as everyone else talked, and even though Steve knew he shouldn’t be surprised, after everything he’d been through, and how he probably wasn’t used to having company, it was still worrying. 

It was near four in the morning by the time they’d all gone to bed. No one had bothered showering or changing clothes. They were all dog-tired, and no one wanted to deal with any of that until after they’d gotten a solid ten hours’ sleep, even though the next morning was bound to be hell. 

Steve was stretched out on the floor in the living room, on the other side of the coffee table from the couch. He was in the perfect place for someone to trip over him, but really he was too tired to care. 

Bucky was on the other side of the room, curled up on the couch again. He looked cold, or maybe just scared, and Steve just wanted to go and sit with him, but he didn’t want to make things worse.

They both fell asleep pretty quickly, as Steve judged from the sound of Bucky’s breathing slowing down and evening out just before he dropped off to sleep as well.  No one got to sleep for very long, though- only a few hours later, before the sun had even risen completely, they were suddenly awakened by a cry for help. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres some real exposition, finally. just 6 chapters late. ur welcome.
> 
> thinking of adding some illustrations/comic-y bits now that i have steve and bucky together. but my tablet pen is sorta busted so it'll be hard. i'll think about it. 
> 
> peace out


	9. Chapter 9

As it turned out, the scream had come from Bucky. He was sitting bolt upright on the couch, staring wild-eyed at the opposite wall. He had the same expression on his face that Steve had seen as he’d been hauled off by S.H.I.E.L.D.- some short few months ago. It hurt to see.

No one had found them, no one had broken in. They were fine. It was just… a nightmare.

“Bucky?” He stood up and went over to the couch, cautiously sitting down on the other end, not wanting to crowd him. “Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer, instead curling up a little, pulling his knees up to his chest. His breathing was shallow and rough.

Natasha and Sam appeared in the doorway, Natasha holding one of the miscellaneous weapons she’d brought. Steve stood up and went over to meet them.

“It’s okay, guys. You can go back to bed, it’s… nothing.”

Sam nodded, leading Natasha back down the hall. Steve was glad they hadn’t tried to ask any questions. He just wanted to take care of Bucky, if he’d let him. He didn’t need to deal with that.

He sat back down on the couch. Bucky raised his head and looked up at him. “Steve…?” His voice shook, and his eyes were slightly red although his face was dry now.

“Yeah, Buck. ‘S okay. I’m here.”

He nodded. “I just- I had… a nightmare. No big deal. I’m- I’m going back to bed. You should too, it’s early.”

“You sure? You need anything, before-”

“No, Steve. I’m fine.” He’d cut him off. He sounded definitive enough- and he didn’t want to press too much. He’d be all right.

“Okay. But… tell me if you need anything?”

Bucky nodded, looking away. He still looked as bad as before, but he’d be able to cope, even if Steve didn’t want him to have to do it on his own.

He went back over to his side of the room, with only a moment’s hesitation: he’d been resisting the urge to kiss Bucky’s cheek, like he’d have done… back then.

He laid back down, pulling the blanket over himself, and willed himself to fall back asleep.

 

 

Bucky stayed where he was, watching Steve slowly fall asleep as sunlight began to creep up the walls, almost bright enough to blind him. He’d been sensitive to light, ever since HYDRA. He’d gotten somewhat used to it, over the years, or at least learned not to mention it, but it still pained him a little sometimes.

He felt kind of guilty for snapping at Steve earlier. He’d only been trying to help him after his nightmare. Bad enough that he’d woken up the whole house, he had to go and be rude to Steve about it after, too.

And the hurt look on his face, no doubt because of the tone of voice he’d used… he hardly wanted to think about that.

He’d been here, what, a couple of hours? Three? Four? Anyway, he’d been here… however long, and he was already on the way to alienating every single person who’d demonstrated any kind of concern for him, hell, he was on the fast road to making himself some real enemies.

And… he didn’t entirely want to stop? Because figuring out how to talk to people again, having to care about people- having people care about _him_ \- that just sounded… hard. He wasn’t sure he wanted that. Maybe it would be better just to be alone again, even if it meant leaving Steve behind.

Maybe it would be better that way. He could slip off one night soon, go turn himself in before they got caught (because it _wasn’t_ worth it, not for someone like him) or else he could just make himself disappear, off to who knew where. He liked that option, he was certain he could make it work even if it wasn’t going to be exactly comfortable. He finally fell asleep a couple of hours after sunrise. He knew Steve should be awake by now (he was always an early riser, when he wasn’t sick) but he supposed he was just tired, since he and everyone else had to have been awake all night. He didn’t blame him.

When he finally drifted off, everything was totally still and quiet. Peaceful, even. A feeling he’d somehow... never quite achieved in his cell at S.H.I.E.L.D. lately- well, not S.H.I.E.L.D., exactly, but… wherever. Who cared. That wasn’t the point. The point was that no one was after him, for the time being, so he was going to enjoy it briefly before he tried to run away again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its so short im sorryyyy (thats what ur mom said to me last night lmao) anyway the next one will be longer, hopefully. got more goin on with the story now and all that. i know i keep saying that but i'm for real this time
> 
> also thanks to @witchwood_hull for introducing me to the OpenDyslexic font you've saved me, dude
> 
> peace out


	10. Chapter 10

No one woke up until nearly ten that afternoon. It didn’t amount to much sleep for anyone, honestly (except for Clint, who’d slept through everything earlier that morning without his hearing aids in) but they were all used to being sleep deprived by now. No big deal.

Sam and Clint ate breakfast in the kitchen (everyone else had decided to just wait until later— it was nearly time for lunch, after all) while they casually talked about the logistics of hiding Bucky. They’d ask the others for their opinions as they walked by, and though it had started out as speculation they seemed to be coming up with a pretty solid plan.

Steve didn’t mind in the slightest. It was less responsibility for him if the others took charge of it. That was immature of him, he knew but he couldn’t find it in him to care. He had other things to worry about.

He was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth, when there was a soft knock on the doorframe from beside him. He turned to look, the toothbrush still in his mouth. It was Bucky, _of course._ He hastily rinsed out his mouth and turned back to look at him again, half expecting him to have disappeared like some kind of ghost.

“Hey, Steve,” he said softly, before Steve could say anything. He must have just woken up, since he’d still been asleep on the couch when Steve had gone to take a shower thirty minutes ago.

“Hey, pal.” Asking him if he’d slept okay seemed unnecessary.

“I hate to ask, but… do you have any extra clothes for me? I kind of need a shower…”

“I- Oh. Yeah. You can borrow mine for now, if that’s all right with you—we’re about the same size—and somebody can go out and get you some stuff of your own later.”

He nodded. “That’s… that’s fine.”

“I’ll be right back, then.”

He went next door, to the spare room, where he dug through his bag for some clean clothes that might sort of fit him. When he got back, Bucky was still standing in the doorway, waiting on him.

“They’re gonna be a little big on you… sorry.”  
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’ll be out of the shower in a few minutes.”

“Yeah. Everything you need should be in there, Clint and Nat and I all brought over our own toiletries and everything, plus there’s Sam’s stuff. You can use whatever you need.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time, pal.”

Bucky went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft _click¸_ and Steve headed over to the kitchen to see what was going on with everyone else.

Everyone was in the kitchen, Sam and Clint at the table and Natasha sitting on the counter with a mug of coffee.

She looked up when he went to get himself a glass of water. “How’s your friend?”

He shrugged. “Could be worse. He’s coping, I think, but… I dunno. I want to talk to him, I should do that… I guess.”

She nodded. “Probably not a terrible idea. If you can get through to him. He seems like a nervous wreck.”

She wasn’t wrong, what with everything that had happened in the past twelve hours, but Bucky was clearly doing his best to keep it together and part of him didn’t want to do anything to shatter whatever illusions he might have that it was working. “He’s okay. He’ll settle in after a few days, if nothing else happens. He’ll be all right.”

Natasha gave him a “whatever-you-say” shrug and took a sip of her coffee. Steve sat down at the table with Sam and Clint, and she joined them a moment later.

Clint looked up from his phone. “Hey, Steve. Sam and I have been talking about where everybody’s gonna sleep and all that, y’know.”

Steve nodded.

“So, we decided—if it’s okay with you guys—that we’d kinda rotate who stays here and who stays at home.”

“Because it’s inconvenient to have everybody here,” Sam cut in, trying to explain, “But we’ll need backup if… you know, something happens?”

Clint nodded. “So we can figure out somewhere permanent for Bucky to sleep, Sam stays where he is, and a third person can find somewhere else to sleep. It’s not perfect, because it’ll look really suspicious to see the three of us coming and going all the time, but I don’t think we’re being watched too carefully. Aside from Steve, but… we can be careful.”

“That’s a lot to hang on being careful,” Natasha pointed out. “But we can find ways to keep him from being seen, I’m sure. Shouldn’t be a problem. And Sam, you always buy extra groceries for people ‘dropping by’, anyway, so if anyone’s watching that, which they won’t be, it won’t make a difference.”

“Right. And we’ve got to also take care of our other responsibilities, too, so no one notices anything unusual…” Steve said thoughtfully. “We can cover for each other with work, right? For the most part, anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really fucked up some exposition in chapter 1 im sorry  
> i think i fixed it   
> not entirely sure tbh- anyway it was the part where Bucky was explaining his and Steve's adventures after his rescue from HYDRA. i tried to save as much as i could but basically i had to rewrite a whole-ass paragraph towards the beginning cause i forgot i had to change a bunch of stuff later to make it fit with the story   
> you might wanna find that and reread it  
> im sorry
> 
> the next chapter's gonna be really fuckin long (this was originally a part of it but i decided to cut it out) anyway it's just gonna be Steve and Bucky and maybe Sam for like. 8 full length pages. should be out soon
> 
> peace out


	11. Chapter 11

They began falling into a kind of routine over the next couple of weeks, and Bucky was even starting to get used to Sam’s place, if nothing else.

They had a schedule worked out, for who would come over and when. Which was maybe a little over-the-top, but it _did_ make things easier to manage. The only downside to this was that Bucky knew _exactly_ when Steve would be over, and the fact that he knew he had no business anticipating his arrival just that much never did anything to help his nerves.

He always answered the door for him—he’d stopped bothering for Natasha, who’d given him an absolutely filthy look the last time he’d tried, and Clint and Sam always let themselves in.

Steve, though—to his credit—at least tried to seem moderately pleased to see him, and sometimes he brought takeout with him. It made it hard to want to sneak off like he’d planned.

Really, though, this planning-who-was-coming-over-when thing was really starting to become an inconvenience, especially since they always made a point of telling him _exactly_ what was going on if he didn’t happen to be around for it to begin with, which was almost never, anyway. He was always irrationally, inexplicably nervous when he knew Steve was going to drop by, and to make matters worse Sam was usually gone for work, so it left him no choice but to answer the door. Which he wanted to do, anyway, of course, but he was just so _awkward_ about it.

“H-hey. Steve.” _God, did he have to stutter?_

“Hey, Buck. Sorry I’m late.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. Don’t worry. Sam’s on his way home, he said. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Oh. Okay.” He shrugged. “D’you know what we’re doing for dinner?”

Bucky shook his head. “Sam said he didn’t feel like cooking earlier, but I dunno if he planned on doing it anyway? You guys can always just order takeout.”

“You know we’re not supposed to do that every day. People will notice.”

“But it’s just twice this week. Besides, it’s cheaper than his groceries.” Sam bought almost everything from Whole Foods, which (as Clint had explained) cost an unholy amount of money—even by today’s standards. Glancing at the receipt he’d left on the counter the first time he’d helped him put the groceries away had almost given him a heart attack.

“Hey, it’s not up to me.” He took a seat on one of the chairs in the living room, since Bucky still slept on the couch—he didn’t mind it, he insisted, and it was too much work to try and find somewhere else for him to stay.

Bucky perched on the back of the couch, one foot hanging off the edge and the other resting comfortably against one of the arms. “But he’s going to want to get takeout,” he pointed out.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “That Mediterranean place, from last week… that was pretty good.”

All their conversations were like this now. Perfectly civil, polite, _normal_. Like they were just acquaintances. Maybe friends, but certainly not like they’d been before. To an outsider looking in, it would seem like Bucky and Sam were the ones who knew each other, and Steve was just a stranger. Of course, Bucky and Sam had been living together for almost three weeks now, 24/7, aside from the time Sam couldn’t avoid going in to work. They’d actually _talked_ , when they weren’t arguing over who was supposed to do laundry or where they were going to order takeout from. They’d gotten to know each other, though not as well as he’d known Steve. He’d miss him, too, if—when—he left. It stung, though, that Bucky and Steve were so… distant like this. Sam could never replace Steve, as much as he kind of wanted him to.

“Bucky?”

He snapped back from… wherever he’d been. His head had been in the clouds for a second, he supposed. Not to be cliché, or anything. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

Steve shook his head. “Never mind.” He got up from the couch and walked out of the room.

Bucky watched him for a second, bewildered, before realizing that the doorbell must’ve rung. He hadn’t heard it.

He came back a moment later, followed by Sam.

“Barnes, take your feet off my couch.”

“Sorry, _ma_ ,” he grumbled, sliding off the couch.

He grinned. “Sure, sure. You spending the night, Steve?”

“If it’s all right with you. I don’t have to go into work or anything tomorrow, either. They’re still trying to keep me away from… y’know.” He gestured vaguely in Bucky’s direction. _The manhunt._ He understood that. “They still think I’m gonna try and interfere if they tell me what’s going on.”

“They’re still feeding you that ‘we’ve got him cornered but seeing you might trigger him again’ bullshit?” Sam asked, with a sideways look at Bucky, who smiled to show that there weren’t any hard feelings. It probably didn’t come off that way.

Steve nodded. “They’re trying. Gotta give ‘em credit for that.”

Sam shook his head. “If they let you help, that would make everything so much easier…”

“Hey, we’ve got Nat, at least. That’s something.”

“They’re still trying to shut her out, too, aren’t they?”

He shrugged. “She hasn’t said anything about it in a while. If they’ve given it up, they still aren’t telling her much of anything.”

“She’s trying. And they haven’t caught her yet, anyway. Nobody suspects a thing, from what I’ve heard.”  
“I just wish they’d let the rest of us in.”

Sam nodded. “Me too. But Nat’s not doing anything we couldn’t do, Steve. It’s better this way, we can keep our story straight. Nobody gets caught, and if she does, the rest of us can stay out of it.”

Bucky watched their exchange in silence. He felt a little guilty that they were all going to all this trouble for him, if he was just going to disappear again in a little while. Maybe a week. They were risking so much for him, Natasha was even sabotaging their mission from the inside now, to try and keep him hidden… it was insane. He appreciated it, of course he did, but not enough to keep him there, because no matter how well this was going for the moment, it just wasn’t worth it.

”We can talk about this later, though,” Sam was saying. “It’s late—you guys want anything for dinner? I mean, takeout.”

Bucky shot Steve an “I told you so” kind of look, and he looked almost genuinely surprised by it. “We were talking about that Mediterranean place, y’know, right around the corner? Could go for that again.”

He shrugged. “That’s all right with me. I can order, pick it up and everything. You guys getting the same thing as last time?”

 _How did he remember what they’d gotten last time?_ Bucky _himself_ hardly remembered what he’d eaten the night before, although Sam had cooked and it had been amazing—as always. “Yeah, sure.”

“If you don’t mind walking all that way by yourself?” Steve asked.

Sam shook his head. “It’s fine. Don’t worry. I’ll be quick, and they never make you wait long. I’ll call it in now, and then I’ll head right over.” He headed for the kitchen. He still had a landline. Bucky didn’t really understand how that was out of the ordinary, but everyone else made fun of him for it.

Bucky sat back down on the couch, and Steve sat back down in his chair and took a sketchbook out of the pocket of his jacket. That was still something he did often, a habit left over from back in the 40’s. He’d seen some of his drawings recently. They were… kind of incredible. Not that he hadn’t been good before, but now they looked _professional_. 

Steve looked up and saw him watching. He flipped through the sketchbook for a moment, as though trying to find something. He held it up for him to see. There was a little drawing of a row of buildings, from a weirdly high angle. It looked strangely familiar, even though he couldn’t place it. Just HYDRA fucking with him, he figured. That still happened sometimes.

“Hey, not bad.” He shot him a quick smile.

Steve grinned back, going back to whatever he’d been doing before. Bucky picked up his book from the coffee table, one Sam had gotten for him a week ago. Most of their time together was like this now. Not talking, not really even interacting much. Just sitting around together, doing stuff. Separately.

It wasn’t much different from the 40’s, in that respect, truth be told, because Steve had been sick and Bucky had often been buried in some new science fiction book. So, they hadn’t talked as much as they could have. But now it was like there was a wall up between them, like the silence had become a physical barrier, and one that neither of them was sure they wanted to break.

Sam breezed by, after a few minutes, interrupting the stillness while he searched for his keys. Bucky could see them, sitting on the mantle, but he didn’t point them out. He just watched and waited for him to spot them on his own. It took all of four and a half minutes—he believed it was a new record.

“All right, gentlemen. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.” He tucked his keys and wallet into his coat pocket and started to head for the door, grabbing his phone from the coffee table.

Steve looked up from his drawing for a moment, and Bucky stuck his thumb in his book to mark his place. “We’ll try not to die while you’re gone,” he promised, almost smiling.

Sam grinned. “Based on you guys’ track record I almost believe that.”

Steve had gone back to the drawing, but he looked up again for a second. “Don’t let anybody follow you home.”

“Will do, Cap.” And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Bucky opened his book again, but he didn’t start reading right away. He was _hyper-aware_ of Steve, barely five feet away from him across the coffee table. He could tell him whatever the hell he wanted right now, and he’d _hear_ it. He might even talk back. And what if he did—what would they say to each other? They were alone, probably not even being recorded. They could talk about whatever they wanted.

Actually, this might be one of his last chances to _talk_ to Steve. If he was leaving soon, like he planned. There was just… so much he wanted to say, where would he start? And how would he manage to get in even a fraction of what he wanted to tell him before Sam came back?

Best to just go for it. He’d be gone before too long, anyway.

“Steve…?”

He looked up from his sketchbook. “Yeah.”

God damn it, he should have thought this through first. Even just planned out what he’d wanted to say… “I’m—I’m sorry—” he stopped, painfully aware of Steve’s eyes on him. Too late to back out now. “—I’m sorry I just… broke into your apartment like—like that. Must’ve… scared you.” Now that the words were out of his mouth, they sounded even fucking _worse_ than he’d imagined it would be.

“Oh, yeah. Looking for you in my dark apartment was like something out of one of Clint’s horror movies.” Was he… smiling? “It’s okay, pal. No hard feelings, just… maybe sneak in through the front door next time?”

He nodded. He knew Steve was joking but he couldn’t make himself take it as lightly. Even though part of him wanted to. “And this must be a pain in the ass for everyone, too. Having to… take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes went wide with apparent surprise. “Buck, it’s not a _pain_. And we’re not _taking care of you._ We’re helping you hide out, just giving you somewhere to live ‘till we can get the whole deal straightened out. It’s not taking care of you. It’s _protecting_ you. Slight difference. And you don’t need to feel bad about it, either. We want to help you fix things, get back to normal, get back on your feet. Get away from HYDRA, all that?”

He was rambling, and he was really avoiding mentioning S.H.I.E.L.D., or whatever the hell it was called now. Who cared. And he didn’t blame him, anyway, because he was still a part of it, after all.

“You’re a bad liar, Steve. Always were.” He didn’t look him in the eye, instead staring at a spot on the wall a couple feet to his left.

“Buck, you can believe that if you want but it’s not gonna hurt anyone but yourself.” Bucky looked back at him, finally. He seemed… pained. Like this really affected him somehow.

There was a few seconds’ painful silence, while Bucky wondered what to say to that. There was plenty he _wanted_ to say, he just didn’t know if it would be the right call. He didn’t want his last words to Steve to be dragging him into a fight.

After a moment, Steve seemed to judge the conversation to be over, and went back to his drawing. That was all right with Bucky, so he went back to his book.

The next twenty minutes or so were spent in tense (but not unfamiliar) silence, neither of them willing to speak for fear of getting into a fight this time. 

Finally, the door swung open again as Sam let himself in, carrying a large paper bag. Bucky looked up at the unexpected noise.

“Hey, you guys survived.” He set the bag on the dining room table. “We should eat now, don’t wanna have to reheat it later.”  
Steve nodded, closing his sketchbook. He looked a little less distracted, now that Sam was there. Like he was trying to seem like nothing had happened now. “Yeah. I’m hungry. Hardly ate anything all day.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “If you hadn’t eaten all day you’d be dead, Rogers.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I said _hardly._ I’m fine. Anyway, we should eat. Food’s gonna get cold.”

Bucky got up from the couch, marking his place in his book. Sam and Steve were still talking, but he was distracted. He didn’t know _why_ exactly he was so shaken by his conversation with Steve, but he couldn’t seem to get it out of his head. He supposed it was because it might well be the last one ever, but… he wasn’t sure. It hadn’t gone as badly as it could have, even if he hadn’t gotten to say what he’d wanted to. He’d said more than he’d ever expected he’d get the chance to say. That would have to be enough.

“Buck? You okay?” Steve’s voice, cutting through his thoughts.

“I—yeah. I’m fine.” He set the book down on the table and went into the kitchen.

Steve had been watching him from the doorway but he turned around and went back inside as soon as Bucky looked up at him. He was holding an empty glass, going to the fridge to refill it.

Sam was setting the table and going through the bag. Bucky got some silverware and went to set the table in silence, then got himself a Coke from the fridge.

They sat down to eat, one by one, still unusually quiet. Sam could probably tell something was going on, how could he not?

They ate in silence, too, which was less unusual but still a little strange. The food was good, though, so Bucky didn’t really mind. He hadn’t had a drink in ages, though. Not since the bar in DC. He hadn’t really missed it much (it hadn’t done much for him lately, except that it made him feel like shit) but now he wished he could leave the house again. Which he could, come to think of it. He just wouldn’t be able to come back, and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

“I’ll take care of the dishes,” he said automatically after he finished his food.  
Sam didn’t object—he’d done it last time. “’S all right with me. You spending the night, Cap?”

Steve nodded. “If that’s all right with you, I guess. I don’t have to go into work early or anything.” He shrugged. “Sure.”

“You sure you’re okay with sleeping on the floor again?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” He shrugged. “I’ve done it before.”

Bucky wasn’t sure why he was even asking anymore—none of them could be bothered to actually find somewhere more comfortable to sleep, so they still all slept on the floor in the spare room.

“It’s still early,” Steve observed, looking down at his watch. “We could watch a movie later, maybe?”

Bucky looked over at him, astonished. “How are we gonna watch a movie? I’m not allowed to leave the house.”

There was what sounded like a stifled laugh from beside him. _Sam._

“You haven’t showed him _that?_ ” Steve looked indignant.

“Haven’t showed me what?”

Steve shook his head. “I guess you guys don’t watch TV much. I assume he showed you that, at least?”

“Um… yeah?” He wasn’t _quite_ certain where he was going with this, but his nerves were suddenly rather overcome by pure scientific curiosity.

“Well, it’s like that, kind of. I guess we’ll clean up here, take care of the dishes, and then we can watch a movie. It’s crazy, you’d have—you’d have loved it as a kid.”

He nodded. “Okay, then.” He’d give them the benefit of the doubt, for now. Because granted, the TV was one thing (there were live news reports, short pre-recorded commercials, and some television shows available, he understood that) but how could _movies_ work the same way, and from home? He supposed there was nothing stopping them from being broadcasted the same way _The Big Bang Theory_ was (Sam liked the damn show and he didn’t get a say in it), but what did he know? He’d have to wait and see.

They cleaned up the kitchen just as quietly as they’d gotten ready for dinner, no one bothering to explain to Bucky any further. He didn’t mind, he’d find out soon enough.

One by one, they wandered into the living room. Sam was fiddling with the TV remote, which he’d tried several times to explain to Bucky, but he’d gotten impatient and given up. To this day it remained something of a mystery.

He sat down on the couch, and Steve took a chair.

“ _Star Wars_ all right with you guys?” Sam asked, scrolling through what Bucky figured was a list of options.

“Sure,” Steve agreed. “Haven’t actually seen it yet.”

Sam gave him a betrayed look, and Bucky wondered what the big deal was.

“I can’t complain.” He shrugged. “Don’t know what it is.”

Sam gave a long-suffering sigh and picked one of the options on the screen. “You gentlemen need anything, before we start the movie?” he asked.

“Actually now you mention it, popcorn sounds good.”

“Be right back, then.”

And he was—Sam didn’t make his own popcorn, he bought it from Whole Foods like everything else. Clint complained about that, too, but Bucky didn’t really mind. It was quicker, and it didn’t sound like fucking machine gun fire.

He’d brought drinks, too. Some off-brand that was exactly the same as the original, tasted like cherry Coke. He handed them their drinks and put the bowls of popcorn on the table, then sat down, picking the remote up to start the movie.

He was immediately interrupted by Steve. “You picked the wrong—"

Sam cut him off. “Now pay attention, gentlemen.”

All three of them shut up as the theme music started to play, and a moment later the intro was rolling across the screen. Bucky was instantly enthralled. He’d never seen anything like this before. The movies he’d seen with Steve as a kid, well, he barely remembered those, to be perfectly honest.

What he remembered the most about them was the feeling of sitting next to Steve in the dark, being so, _so_ aware of how close he was—he could have reached out and just… taken his hand if he wanted. Of course, he’d never done that, because that was the 1940’s, but things were different now. Even _he_ knew that. Maybe… but Steve was, for one, all the way across the room, and for another, totally uninterested in him.

But he should have been watching the movie, not… thinking about Steve. Definitely not _that way_. And he shouldn’t have been thinking about the ‘40’s, either. That was just… depressing, even what little he remembered. He turned his full attention back to the screen, trying to figure out what had happened while he wasn’t paying attention.

It was _incredibly_ confusing. It wasn’t at all like the movies he remembered: it was in color, for one thing, and the special effects (which Clint had explained to him) were impossibly good. And the actors were _convincing_ , too, even more than the ones he’d seen on modern-day TV, and he could keep listing things all day even if he wasn’t really paying attention to the plot.

He was almost disappointed when it ended. It was dark outside now, so Steve went to turn on the lights while Sam turned off the TV and Bucky gathered up the empty dishes and soda cans.

“How’d you like it?”

He looked up, startled. Steve was watching him. “It was—it was great,” he said after a moment. “Not what I expected.”

“Yeah, they’ve gotten better since our time, haven’t they?”

 _Our time?_ “Little hard to follow sometimes. But the special effects were… they were something else.”

Steve grinned, and Bucky’s heart seemed to flip over in his chest. “I’m glad you liked it. We should watch the sequel sometime.”

If he didn’t know better, that sounded like… a date. He pushed the thought away, trying to force himself not to look embarrassed. “Yeah, we should. Maybe… next week?”

It needed to be soon, anyway. Before he made a break for it.

“I’m coming over again on Saturday,” he said after a moment’s thought. “We could do it then?”

Bucky automatically looked around for Sam’s approval, but he was nowhere to be found. “Sounds good to me. We can make a night of it.” He winced inwardly.

Steve seemed unfazed. “That’s perfect, then. I’ll make sure not to get stuck at work or on a mission or anything, and we’re good to go.”

“I will, too.” He smiled faintly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop. here it is.  
> didn't mean for it to take so long but anyway one big-ass chapter as promised
> 
> peace out, happy new year


	12. Chapter 12

Steve hardly slept that night. It didn’t really have a lot to do with where he was sleeping—still on the floor in Sam’s spare room—he didn’t mind that. He had a lot on his mind.

Well, one thing, mostly. But it was a big thing. _Bucky._ The more time he spent with the man, the more hopelessly confused he became. One minute he was so cold and aloof and then the next he was almost like himself again. Maybe he was still trying to fight his tendencies from HYDRA, or from prison. Maybe he was trying to keep his distance from Steve, for one reason or another. He wouldn’t blame him. It was his fault, either way, surely. He was the one who had landed him in prison, and the one who should be making him feel safe and secure here.

But what was he supposed to _do_ about it? He blinked up at the ceiling, his eyes burning slightly. Damn, he was tired. He could hardly think… And what could he do, anyway? He might be beyond help. Even though he’d acted so normal and _happy_ for a minute earlier, did that mean anything? Maybe he just felt bad about how he’d acted while Sam had been gone. He had no reason to, of course. That whole conversation was awkward and that was Steve’s fault, too. He should have taken it more seriously…

_Damn it._

Hey, at least they planned on watching another movie later. That had seemed to make him happy. He _did_ have that to look forward to. It would be fun, they could all sit down for a little while and watch the rest of the movies. He’d liked watching Bucky’s reaction to all the little details: all the special effects, and the acting, and how tense he’d been at the end. He supposed it was because he’d never seen a really good sci-fi movie before. It was cute, he thought. He still got excited about stuff like that.

Maybe he could sneak him out to the next Stark expo… they’d have to stay well away from the crowds, of course. That wouldn’t be easy, but maybe Natasha and Clint would be able to help. Or even Tony. But… maybe not. He’d ask too many questions. And it would be dangerous, anyway, because people were obviously still looking for him, and Steve was the worst (and most likely) possible person he could be caught in public with.

Still, it was worth considering. He wanted to see Bucky’s face light up like that again. Maybe they could work it out—he’d talk to Natasha about it. She’d call him an idiot, for sure, and she’d be completely right, but he should try.

He rolled over, painfully, and closed his eyes. He’d try to get some sleep, and then he’d see what things were like in the morning.

Who knew, maybe Bucky would still be the same person he’d been after the movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's,, so short,,
> 
> i'm starting school tomorrow lmao wish me luck i'll try to post again soon. ive got a frick ton of new classes so we'll see how this goes
> 
> peace out


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all in all not the longest chapter ive ever written but its sorta angsty so it was fun and anyway
> 
> enjoy

The next day was tense and sort of uncomfortable, because neither Steve nor Bucky knew how the other would react to them, after the night before, because it was just so damn _weird._

Sam was there, of course. He made breakfast for them, because he was the only one who could cook—or so he claimed, and no one had disputed him yet. He witnessed most of the awkwardness, but he must have expected it, because he hardly commented. They were both thankful for that, because neither of them knew where they’d start if they had to explain.

It was just all around sort of a weird experience for everyone involved. But no one said anything about it, so they were all still trying to pretend that everything was normal.

Bucky was still trying his best to act the same way he had the night before, because that had seemed to make Steve happy, but it was harder to do than he’d expected. _All he had to do was not be an asshole for a little while, why was this so hard…?_ It felt like back in middle school, which was only a vague, uncomfortable memory now, but he still remembered the feeling of his crush walking by and how he’d tried so hard to “act natural”—except Steve was around _all the time_ now and there was nothing he could do about it and he couldn’t seem to get it right.

He was so nervous that he accidentally dropped a glass on the floor while he was trying to unload the dishwasher from the night before, and then he’d somehow managed to cut himself, _right across his entire goddamn palm,_ while cleaning it up. It had bled everywhere, even as he’d rushed over to the bathroom to try and clean it up. How had he even managed that? He had a whole _metal hand_ , the thing was practically indestructible, and somehow he’d still managed to fuck up the flesh one too by being careless.

Steve walked past as he was still trying to clean it up, but he was right handed and even with the top-of-the line metal fucking HYDRA arm he was still clumsy as fuck. He stopped in the open doorway (why the _hell_ hadn’t he closed the door…?) and watched him for a moment.

“Buck, what happened?”

“It’s—It’s nothing. No big deal. I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

He turned around and looked up at him. Damn, he was _tall_. And muscular. And he looked very worried for someone who was staring at an ex-HYDRA assassin with such extensive medical training. Almost as if he didn’t think he could take care of himself.

“Bucky, you’re _right handed_. Let me help you.”

Bucky could perform his own appendectomy, if the need arose. He’d be fine. Besides, he didn’t want _Steve’s_ help. He didn’t want to be so close to him, because he just wasn’t mentally prepared for that, and he didn’t want to fuck it up again. He was just going to make things awkward…

“No, really. It’s fine.” The bleeding had already stopped. Now all he had to do was bandage it up and he’d be good to go.

“Bucky. You’re starting to sound like me.”

It was startling that he actually knew what that meant, even if he didn’t _quite_ have the memories attached to it yet.

“Really! Steve, I’m not going to die if I just take care of this myself. I _know how to do it_ , from taking care of you all the time.” The words were out of his mouth before he even knew what he was going to say, accompanied by the _very_ unbidden image of a much smaller Steve sitting on a bathroom counter much like this one as a younger, more carefree Bucky bandaged his scraped knuckles and admonished him for getting beat up again. _‘Stevie, if you keep making me take care of you after you go and do shit like this,_ I’m _gonna kick your ass.’_ Steve had made some kind of smart retort in return, but it was lost somewhere in his still-foggy memories. He looked back up at him, his face pained. “Fine. Go ahead.”

If he was surprised by the sudden 180 he’d just done, he didn’t show it. He walked further into the bathroom, standing beside him in front of the sink. “Can I see your hand, then?”

He held it out wordlessly, letting Steve do whatever he thought he needed to do.

He didn’t flinch as he examined the cut. It wasn’t too deep, but he mumbled something under his breath about wanting to check for more broken glass. _So he’d worked out what had happened._ That couldn’t have been hard, honestly, because between the shattering glass and the loud swearing, he had to have heard it all the way across the house.

He _did_ get it done quickly—he had to give him credit for that. It took him hardly more than a minute to disinfect it (he apologized profusely while Bucky hissed in pain) and bandage it up. Still, it felt like ages, because this was all so uncomfortably _familiar_. It was bringing back all kinds of memories that Bucky wanted nothing to do with, didn’t want back, didn’t even want to _know_ about. But he was stuck with them, apparently. And they weren’t _bad._ Just weird.

He was broken out of his thoughts by Steve’s worried voice. “Hey… Buck? You okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

He blinked a few times, turning to look up at him (it was infuriating that he had to do that now) and clutching his freshly bandaged hand to his chest. “’Course not. You worry too much, punk.”

The look on his face made him absolutely _sure_ he had to have said _something_ wrong, although what it had been was anyone’s guess.

“I’m gonna-I’m going to go and finish unloading the dishwasher for you. I’m guessing you didn’t actually get around to it?”

He took in the pained look on his face, his suddenly defensive posture. _The fuck?_ “No.” He shook his head. Might as well give him something to do—it looked like he was absolutely dying to get away from him. “There’s a lot of stuff left, actually.”

Steve left in a hurry, his footsteps quickly receding down the hall.

Bucky listened to them until they were out of earshot, then leaned back against the counter with a heavy sigh. It was times like this that made him wish he had a bedroom of his own—or just somewhere semi-private where he could think. But he didn’t have anything of the kind, so… this was his best option.

He took a couple of deep breaths, picking at the bandage on his hand. He didn’t have a _chance_ of figuring out what he’d done to upset Steve—he knew that. But on top of worrying about him, he had all these new memories to worry about now, too. He didn’t know where to start with those, either. They were just a little bundle of pain and nostalgia and _longing_ for something he’d lost—for Steve, actually. And now he was never going to get him back, not really, so there was no point even bothering with those.

He needed to focus on the present and the future from now on. And he needed a drink. _Badly._

Sam didn’t drink alcohol, so… maybe it was time to put what little planning he’d done into action. He could sneak out, test out the route he’d decided on over the last couple of weeks, and then be back before they even realized he was missing. It could just be a little test run, to make sure things worked out okay while he still had time to revise his plans. He’d try it tonight. For now, he just needed to act normal (ha) and try not to fuck things up any more—although what he was about to do was going entirely against that philosophy.

But that was fine—all he had to do was not get caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more angst AND some fluff to come in the near future!
> 
> (and hopefully longer chapters!)
> 
> peace out


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had fun writing this. i reckon some of you will enjoy it too! ;p

He put his plan into action that night. Steve had left in the afternoon, after lunch, and Sam had gotten home from work and promptly passed out in his room at five in the evening, poor guy. It made Bucky feel kind of bad for what he was about to do, but that wasn’t stopping him. He’d come so far, and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him now. He was going to _get the fuck out of here_ —even if it was just for the night.

Easy, right? He slipped a twenty leftover from two weeks before into his back pocket, turned out the lights, and slipped outside through the bathroom window.

Sam didn’t have a backyard—instead, there was a little alley between his house and the one behind it, which went on a little while in both directions. One of these, he’d learned (from looking at Google Maps on Sam’s computer—he’d been careful to clear his browser history) ended in a dead end, but the other opened out onto a proper street.

He took a right, looking nervously over his shoulder once or twice, and crept down the narrow strip of concrete, leaving the window open behind him for easy access.

He hadn’t planned much of anything from here—he hadn’t even thought he’d get out of the house, really. If he’d known he’d make it this far, he’d have just gone for it: brought everything he thought he’d need and left _tonight_. But he didn’t want to go so soon. He needed time to say good-bye.

Before he could fully prepare himself for what he was about to do, he’d reached the end of the alley and there he was on the street. He was kind of lost, actually. The least he could have done was some basic planning, in retrospect.

He’d planned to go to a bar (like the one he’d been to in DC) and just get a couple of drinks there and come back, but that was far easier said than done:  
For one thing, his selection of bars in the immediate area was pretty limited. While this wasn’t a residential street, it seemed to consist mostly of small shops and restaurants, with the occasional hair salon that he could see. His best option, he decided, was to keep walking for a little bit and try not to get lost. If he ran out of luck he could stop in a liquor store (or hell, failing that even a drugstore or a gas station or something—he didn’t discriminate) for a bottle of whiskey or a beer. Or hell, straight vodka was all right with him, too. His twenty bucks should cover as much as he wanted and more.

There was a surprising number of people still walking up and down the street, despite the somewhat late hour, and of course as always he suspected each and everyone of them was out to get him. But he made it down the street a ways (maybe six blocks or so) without running into trouble, though he was beginning to think he should have tried a little harder to disguise himself—he worried that the baseball cap he’d “borrowed” from Sam might not quite cut it. But no one seemed to even look his way, which he might have found moderately insulting so long ago but now came as a relief.

Finally, he found what he was looking for: a bar.

However, his search was far from over. This was far from the quiet, near-empty establishment he was looking for. On the contrary, it seemed _packed_. Much like the ones he used to go to with Steve, actually. But with a definite modern twist or two—things he’d seen all over the place, mostly. From what he could see through the windows that weren’t covered by rainbow flags (what was up with that, anyway?) the interior design of the place looked really nice and sleek and brand-new.

It was the kind of place he would have loved as a kid, actually. But now… it wasn’t even an option.

He walked for a few more minutes, not coming across anything remotely suitable. Perhaps his expectations were just too high… this was New York, after all. He’d been _lucky_ to find the kind of thing he wanted in DC at all. Besides, this was a pretty nice, although semi-crowded part of the city, even for New York. If he wanted something a little less anxiety-inducing, he’d have to drive to get there, which of course wasn’t an option. He didn’t know his way around the city anymore, and at any rate now that the Soldier seemed to have retreated somewhat he wasn’t sure he’d be able to access whatever training he needed to be able to drive a car—he and Steve had always been too broke to afford one.

 _Could Steve drive?_ He’d have to ask him. Maybe he could talk him into buying him a drink, he thought, laughing under his breath. Actually, there were probably a few steps he could have taken before this, he supposed. He glanced around the street, where a few people (not quite as many as earlier) were still walking around.

It was only a couple of hours after sunset, though. He’d left as soon as it was dark and he was sure Sam wasn’t going to wake up, and he hadn’t actually been walking for too long, so it was still fairly reasonable, he figured. If he was worried about that, he was just being paranoid.

It was a nice night, though. The sky was pretty and clear, even though he couldn’t see the stars anymore—light pollution—and there was music playing somewhere off in the distance. The traffic wasn’t too heavy here, unlike he’d seen in other parts of the city, so the cars driving by kept making him jump. But he was enjoying himself, for once.

Finally, he just decided to find himself a liquor store, buy something, and call it a night. He didn’t want to be out too long, because what if Sam woke up—what if he noticed he was gone and called the authorities?

He needed to get back home fast, that was for sure, but he wasn’t just going to give up and head home without the one thing he’d gone out for in the first place.

So, he stopped into the first liquor store he could find and took his time finding what he wanted, because sweet _fuck_ it was cold outside and despite it being more or less designed by Russians his metal arm wasn’t meant to handle that. So of course he was already shivering, even with the heavy coat (Steve’s) and the gloves (Sam’s) he was wearing.

Trying not to draw attention to himself—a losing battle, but what could he do—he grabbed a bottle of the cheapest whiskey he could find, the better to save money, and headed for the checkout.

To his relief, the tired-looking cashier—who couldn’t have been much over twenty-one himself—didn’t bother to ID him, and simply wished him a good night as he handed him his purchase.

He slipped the bottle inside his coat, not wanting to open it until he was somewhere he wouldn’t risk getting charged with public intoxication, even though he still didn’t think he could get drunk anymore, anyway.

It took him _too long_ to get home. He’d gotten turned around coming out of the liquor store and walked the wrong way for several minutes before realizing he’d fucked up when he ended up by the bar from earlier. By the time he got back and figured out where he was, it was noticeably later. He needed to get back, _now._ He was actually sort of nervous, even though he knew how tired Sam had been and how unlikely he was to be out of bed any time soon. But he quickened his pace anyway, not wanting to risk anything.

He almost passed the alley he needed to get back to Sam’s house. It was lucky he’d left the window open, because he’d never be able to find the place again without it. Once he was in the shelter and relative safety of the alley, he deemed it safe to drink the whiskey he’d bought. He needed to get rid of it now, anyway—he couldn’t leave it anywhere in the house where Sam or Steve or Natasha would see it, although he had a feeling Clint wouldn’t think twice about something like that.

He stopped walking not too far from the house, careful to stay out of sight of the windows, and sat down on the ground, leaning against a wall. It took him a minute to actually open the bottle, because his metal hand couldn’t seem to get a grip on it even without the glove on. If he could have contacted his old superiors about that, he would have made a point of putting in a complaint.

It didn’t take him long at all to finish off the whiskey. He stood up, dropping the empty bottle into what appeared to be just a discarded trash can, and walked the rest of the way to the house.

It didn’t seem like the alcohol had affected him in the slightest, which was unsurprising after his experience in DC. However, he was starting to feel a little bit strange about coming back here. He’d have to get up in the morning and act like he’d never left. Natasha was coming over, which he never looked forward to. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back here… but where else did he have to go, really? He hadn’t made a real plan yet. He didn’t really seem to have a choice, when it came down to it.

Maybe it was better that way.

And anyway, he was already climbing through the window. It was funny, he could have sworn he’d left that light off...

Before he could even try to rationalize to himself that Sam could have gotten up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and left the light on, he was face-to-face with the man himself, on opposite sides of the wall. He lost his grip and tumbled backwards, letting out a cry of surprise as well as pain, and a string of swear words. He got up slowly and dusted himself off, his hand stinging where his already-cut palm had scraped across the bottom of the window frame.

He considered just turning around and running away, but what good would that do? The whole country was after him and he didn’t want Sam and the others to come looking for him too. Not before he was ready to disappear.

With a defeated sigh, he clambered back up into the window. Sam stood back this time to let him in.

“Hey, Barnes. Had a good night out on the town?” He was leaning back against the counter, a triumphant, shit-eating grin on his face. “Shouldn’t’a stayed out after curfew. You had us worried.”

_Us?_

“I…” He was at a bit of a loss for words. He should have just run after all… “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i've already gotten so many more kudos and comments and bookmarks and stuff than i ever expected  
> even though it's not a lot in the grand scheme of things, i know, i'm still reaally proud of it and it means a lot to me that y'all took time to comment and leave kudos (and you bookmarked it. you b o o k m a r k e d it)  
> so thank you, all you guys!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this-- another chapter, so soon?

Steve had woken up in the middle of the night to a phone call from Sam. Which ordinarily wouldn’t have been a bad thing, because a nighttime phone call from his therapist friend was always welcome, in theory, but for the content of the phone call. And he was exhausted.

“Sam…?” He wasn’t even awake yet.

“Steve. I need you to get your ass over here _right now._ ”

He sat up, clutching the phone, bewildered. “Why?” _Bucky?_

“Bucky’s gone.”

Steve was already out of bed, throwing on a jacket over his t-shirt and sweatpants and finding a pair of shoes. “I’ll be over in ten,” he said, holding the phone (on speaker) in one hand as he hurried towards the door.

He didn’t have time to worry about how this would look if someone saw him leave, because it was Bucky. He could be captured, or wounded, or _dead._ He swallowed, hard, pressing the phone to his ear again now that he was outside his apartment.

“I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and the window was open.”

He was silent, listening.

“And then I went to check on him because I lock my windows and he was gone.”

“Bucky really has a thing for climbing through windows, doesn’t he?” It was the only thing he could think of to say.

His entire body had gone numb with panic. All he could think of was that he had to get to Sam’s house, and he _needed_ to find Bucky.

He could be _anywhere_. HYDRA might have taken him back, for all he knew. But that was ridiculous, because HYDRA had been defeated for good this time. Unless… they had the technology to time travel? Maybe that was how they’d gotten him under their control in the first place. Maybe they’d abducted him from _here_ and taken him back—but that was ridiculous, because how could he have gotten here in the first place? He shook his head, trying to pay attention to whatever it was that Sam was saying now.

“I haven’t wanted to go out and look for him because what if he comes back? And Nat’s on a mission and Clint’s just… gone, so… you’re the only one I can call.”  
_Was he the_ last _person he’d thought to call? Despite him being Bucky’s best friend, probably the person most likely to be able to find him again?_ “I’m gonna be right over. Just a few minutes.”

He was in the parking garage now, trying to find his car. He hadn’t paid extra for his own parking spot, so he was trying to remember where exactly he’d put the damn thing. He found it, parked way in the back corner— _Nice job, Cap._

Sam was still talking when he pulled onto the street. “—I think he left on his own.”

“You… what?”

“There was no sign of a struggle. Nothing broken… the window looked like somebody just left it open. If somebody came to take him into custody they definitely would have taken me too, and… anyway, who would want him, aside from Fury? HYDRA’s gone.”

He had a point. But why would he leave? He knew he was safe there didn’t he? Somehow, this felt like his fault. Like, that weird interaction they’d had that morning, after Bucky had cut himself doing the dishes… he should have tried harder to help him but instead he’d just run off to finish up the household chores.

All because he’d called him a punk. He hadn’t been able to handle _that_ —maybe he wasn’t equipped to handle this after all.

“So… do you know _why_ he left?” Steve asked softly.

“Cap, I’m not Sherlock Holmes. I’m trying my best here.” There was a slight edge to his voice.

Steve winced. “Right. Okay.” Nat and Clint were better at that kind of thing, anyway. “I… he’s been acting kind of weird lately.”

“Oh?” His voice was full of sarcasm. “Bucky? _Our_ Bucky?”

Steve sighed. “I mean… he seems… different. Maybe he’s getting worse, or… something. I dunno. Maybe he’s just that way with me…?”

“Well, what’s different now?” That was his “maybe-I-can-help” voice.

“One second he’s so cold and distant it’s like—it’s almost like back at HYDRA again. And the next, he seems so much like his old self again it’s like nothing ever happened in the first place and we’re back in the 1940’s,” he explained, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “And I can’t figure out _why_.”

He still couldn’t shake the feeling that it was his fault, that he was doing something to hinder Bucky’s recovery.

“It’s not your fault. He’s recovering, and I don’t have an _exact_ idea of what’s going on, and I couldn’t tell you if I did, really, not without his consent, but he’s… he’s having a rough time dealing with everything that’s… happened.”

He could tell Sam was trying not to give away too much. Which was probably the right thing to do, because it was Bucky’s story to tell, but it took everything he had not to start asking every question that came into his head—Sam would tell him what he needed to know.

“Of course, I know that.” He sighed. It had been evident enough, anyway. He remembered how he’d fainted when they’d first arrived at Sam’s house and the nightmare he’d had that night.

“He’s doing better than he was. Being out of the cell did him some good, I think.” Sam sighed. “But being cooped up here can’t have been much better.”

They should have come up with better living arrangements. He should have been a better friend, he should have _talked_ to him…

Too late now.

“So… what are we gonna do if we find him?”

“ _When_ we find him, we’re going to find out why he left. For certain, not just speculation. And _then_ we can work out what to do about it. I think he left because he got overwhelmed, maybe he couldn’t stay in the house any longer, maybe he got scared… but we’re not gonna know until we ask him.”

 _Damn, that was pretty specific for “speculation”._ “Okay. Sounds like a plan, I guess. I’m almost there, so… see you in a few?”

“Yeah, later, Cap.”

“Bye.” He hung up. He was only a few minutes away now. That was good, less time to be alone with his thoughts. Without realizing he was doing it, he started to look for Bucky, maybe walking down the street or through the window or open door of one of the shops that was still open.

Of course, he reached Sam’s house without having any luck, because Bucky of all people would know how to disappear. He knew that.

He went straight up to the front door and let himself in this time, because Bucky wasn’t there to answer it for him.

“Sam?”

“In here!” His voice seemed to be coming from the bathroom down the hall. _Must have been where he left from._

He made his way down the hall to the bathroom. The door was open and Sam was standing at the still-open window.

“Why didn’t he close it?” he asked, going to stand beside him and look out into the alley.

“I dunno… maybe he was worried it would make noise?”

“Yeah, where were you during this whole thing?”

“I was asleep,” Sam admitted, still looking out the window. “Got home from work early and then just kinda crashed.”

He sighed, trying not to let his irritation show. _It wasn’t his fault. He’d been tired, that was all. He needed to sleep—he didn’t have the serum to keep him going._

“So… when did you realize he was gone?”

“’Bout… forty minutes before I called you?”

“What took you so long?”

“I had to call Clint and Nat first. They’d have had the best chances of tracking him down.” His voice was remarkably calm for how it made Steve feel.

“But I’m _his best friend,_ Sam.” His voice was sharper than he’d wanted it to be.

“Steve. I’m sorry, I know you’re hurt by that, but that was how I thought I’d get him back the fastest.”

“What, you couldn’t have just _called_ me first? I would have liked to know?”

“What would you have done?” His voice was flat. Although they rarely fought, he hated when he got like this. So calm and unemotional and… rational. He didn’t understand it.

“I—” he broke off. _God, why did he have to do this bullshit? He was so damn hard to argue with, sometimes. It took all the fun out of it._ “I would have _liked to know,_ Sam.”

“Steve.” He looked up at him sharply. “We have bigger problems.”

He sighed. “Right. Sorry.” He sounded stiff and… unapologetic. They both knew he didn’t mean it.

“So I guess… one of us should go and look and then… the other one stays here?”

He shrugged. His fingernails were digging into his palms—it hurt a little. He made an effort to relax. “I’ll go.”

Sam turned away from the window, leaning back against the wall. “You don’t have to. I’ll go. You wait here for him to come back.”

“Sam, I’m not just gonna _sit around!”_ His voice rose a little, both in pitch and volume. He might have been embarrassed if he hadn’t had bigger things to worry about.

“It’s for the best. What are you gonna do if you run into him on the street, huh? How are you going to convince him to come back with you? I know how to do this kinda thing, Steve.”

 _He had a point, even if Steve hated admitting it._ “Okay. Fine. But… he could be anywhere. How are you gonna find him?”

Sam hesitated, which made Steve even angrier than before, but he managed to control himself this time. He couldn’t fly off the handle _now,_ they both knew that. So, he leaned back against the wall beside Sam, tilted his head back a little, and took a couple of deep breaths. He needed to calm down, or else they were never going to get anywhere… oddly enough, that didn’t help him.

“He can’t have gone far,” Sam was saying. “He’s gotta still be in the area. He had to have left on foot. He’s careful, so he wouldn’t risk public transport or driving himself. I don’t know where he plans to go after this, exactly, but we’re about to find out.”

“He could hitchhike,” Steve suggested. “Once he got out of the city.”

“With that metal arm?” He raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be easy…”

“Still, we need to hurry up and find him,” Steve pointed out.

“No, let’s just let him wander around New York for a bit,” Sam retorted, his voice full of sarcasm, already going to head back outside.

Steve followed, not even noticing when Sam stopped walking behind him. He went back down the hall and went to pace around the living room, waiting for him to come back.

Finally, he got tired of waiting and went to make a pot of coffee. What could he possibly be _doing?_ He’d been behind him when he’d gone out into the hall hadn’t he?

It was good to have some time alone to think, at least, he reflected. Not that he was doing much of that. He really just wanted a little bit of time to himself before he _really_ got dragged into this shit show. Just to enjoy the peace before the panic set in.

He leaned against the counter, waiting for his coffee to finish brewing.

Sam still wasn’t back yet, which was worrying. What if someone had come for him after all? Would he have noticed? Why wouldn’t they come after Steve, too? They’d have seen them together, whoever they were. They’d know that they were helping to hide Bucky. Maybe that was where Clint was…

He shook himself. He was already getting paranoid, what, not even forty minutes into this? That had to be a new record.

There were footsteps coming down the hall. Sounded like… more than one pair?

He listened for a moment longer, then went to investigate. _What was the worst that could happen?_

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it was Sam, all right. With someone else walking behind him as if he expected him to be able to protect him.

_“Bucky?”_

Hearing Steve say his name in _that tone of voice_ was like a punch in the gut—which he’d experienced plenty. He knew what he was talking about. He shrank back a little bit more behind Sam, wanting to stay clear of what he was sure was going to be pure rage. Probably violence.

_He should have stayed home, he should have stayed home, this wasn’t worth it for a damn bottle of whiskey…_

He was looking down at the floor, determined not to meet Steve’s eyes. There was a hand on his shoulder, suddenly, and he jumped a little. Sam was no longer in front of him, he wasn’t protected anymore… this was it.

When no blow came, he dared to raise his eyes and look up at Steve.

There was a look on his face that he’d never seen before. It was hard to identify, because he looked so… conflicted. Pained and relieved, and almost… happy? He couldn’t imagine why he’d be _happy_ right now. He’d have almost preferred to see anger. That, he could deal with.

“I… I came back.”

Steve nodded. “C-come and sit down, Buck.”

 _He was going to have to explain why he’d left, wasn’t he?_ Shit. He wasn’t remotely prepared for that.

So, he went and sat down on the couch, pulling his legs up to his chest and trying to make himself as small as possible. He’d taken his shoes off after he’d come in through the window, and his coat and gloves were back in the hall closet, so if not for their topic of conversation this would seem like a normal night.

“Ask away.” No getting out of it, he figured. He just… wouldn’t give them the whole truth. Better to look like a complete dick than the madman that he was.

Sam and Steve had both taken the chairs near the couch. Sam looked comfortable—he was sort of in his element, Bucky thought. _Lucky._

Steve, on the other hand, was anything but. He looked as though he’d rather die than be here right now. He knew that look pretty well. It was almost identical to the one he’d worn nearly a century ago while being scolded by his ma… his throat constricted a little, and he swallowed hard. _This was why he’d gone out for a drink, damn it._

Neither of them seemed to have even heard him. His voice had been soft, anxious, but he hadn’t thought it was _that_ quiet.

Sam was _on his phone_ ¸ of all things. But he looked worried, Bucky observed. He was easier to read than Steve, at least. Steve was watching him, looking over his shoulder at the little screen.

“That’s… that can’t be good,” Sam said softly.

“You should call her back. I’ll take care of this,” Steve said, quickly glancing up and seeing Bucky looking.

“It’s gotta be bad. That’s a lot of missed calls…”

He nodded. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll leave my phone on this time.” He stood up and went to leave, giving Bucky a look that just said, _“Good luck.”_

 _Thanks,_ he thought dryly. He felt kind of abandoned. What was so important that he had to leave him alone with Steve—the _only_ guy around who could physically overpower him—and not even explain himself?

_Who was this fucking damsel in distress who he needed to help more than he needed to keep Steve and Bucky from killing each other?_

And then the door had slammed shut and he was alone with Steve. This _wasn’t_ how he’d wanted his night to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn't mean for it to be so long :3  
> i have MLK day off so y'know what that means ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> i'm running out of stuff to put in my authors notes help
> 
>  
> 
> peace out y'all


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im taking a break from my history essay for this. its worth it

There was a few moments’ awkward silence before either of them dared to speak again. They both knew this would be an uncomfortable conversation, of course. Neither one of them wanted to deal with it, especially while they were both so tense and while Sam had gone off to help Natasha, but they couldn’t just leave it like this.

“I guess… we should get this over with,” Steve said after a moment, looking down at the floor.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Ask away. I’ll be honest,” he said in a defeated sort of voice.

_He didn’t believe that for a moment but he had to give him the benefit of the doubt._ He took a short, shallow breath. “Okay. Why did you leave?” _Might as well get right to the point._

“I needed a drink.”

“You… what?” At least he _sounded_ calm-if a little confused. He felt anything _but_ calm.

“I needed a drink. Y’know, alcohol?” He raised an eyebrow.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but that sure wasn't it. _Bucky still drank? Where had he gotten the money?_ “But… why?”

He sighed, in a desolate sort of way, and Steve’s heart wrenched. “Got… got overwhelmed, I guess. Needed to get out of here.”

“So you decided to sneak out, and…?”

This wasn’t adding up at all. Sure he’d been acting a little strange lately but that was perfectly normal wasn’t it? He was _recovering_. He couldn’t go back to normal just like that. And what had taken so long, why was he only starting to do stuff like this now? Or had he just gotten caught tonight…? And he wasn’t giving up any information, which wasn’t helping at all. It was too much to think about. His head was starting to hurt.

“Yeah. I just needed to get away from everything for a little bit. It’s… no big deal. Nothing to worry about, Steve. You’ve got bigger problems.”

_He always pulled shit like this, whenever he needed someone’s help and he was afraid to ask for it. It was starting to get a little old._

“So you were trying to... escape?"

“I was tired of… being cooped up, that’s all. Just-I just wanted to get out of here for a little bit. Got cabin fever.”

His voice shook. And Steve saw how the corner of his mouth twitched, just a little, and then he brushed his hand up over his face to cover it up. He was lying. Whatever HYDRA had done to him, it hadn’t included teaching him how to lie. But what was he covering up—what could be so bad he needed to hide it from _Steve?_ He probably would have preferred to tell Sam but whatever Natasha needed so urgently at about one in the morning was clearly so much more important to him than this.

More importantly, how did he get the truth out?

“Buck… y’know if that’s not all there is to it you can tell me about it right? No one else has to know.” Maybe he was just worried about everyone being angry at him… that would be easy to solve, at least.

“Ha, thanks,” he mumbled.

It was like talking to a brick wall. “And… I can help you. We can talk things out, the way we used to?” His voice rose a little, sounding hopeful.

Bucky was silent. Steve looked up at him, making sure he’d heard him.

It was hard to tell if he’d heard or not. He was looking down at the ground, his lips parted slightly as if he were going to say something, but he was still dead quiet. His breathing was quick and shallow—he sounded panicked.

“Buck…?” he said softly, hoping to get his attention.

His eyes snapped up to meet Steve’s. They were wild, full of fear and maybe sadness. “S-stop talking.”

Steve was shocked into silence. Bucky had never spoken to him like that before—the Soldier had, but not Bucky. He wasn’t quite sure how to react. Did he treat him the same way he always did when they fought and things went too far, try to talk to him and be the voice of reason? Or did he let him work things out by himself?

There was a quiet sniffle from over in Bucky’s direction. He looked back over at him, confused. Bucky’s eyes were closed, and he was still breathing shallowly.

“Buck?” He said again.

He didn’t tell him to stop talking that time. Instead, he let out another shuddery breath and rested his head against his knees, which were still pulled up to his chest. _Fuck, what was he supposed to do now?_ Sam knew how to deal with this kind of thing. Not him.

Finally, he got up from his chair and went to sit down beside him on the couch. “Buck, hey, we don’t have to talk. I’m just—I’ll be… here for you, okay?”

There was what sounded like a stifled sob and then he lifted his head to look at him. “ _I’m_ the one who’s supposed to be here for _you.”_ His voice was harsh, his breathing quicker and more ragged than before. His eyes looked cold, even though they were welling up with tears.

“Bucky—”

He cut him off. “Steve, no you don’t _understand,_ I’m not supposed to be like this, you’re not supposed to see me like this, I’m supposed to be _strong_ , I’m the _Winter Soldier,_ Steve. I can’t _do_ this. _Nobody_ can know how weak I am, and… I… I don’t want anyone to see. I can’t let them see. I’m… sorry.” He said all that in a rush, his voice gradually rising and then lowering in volume, only stopping, it appeared, because he needed to take a breath.

Steve watched him take a few more quick, frantic breaths, not saying anything, and then he slowly reached out and put his hand on his arm.

That was all it took: a dam seemed to break somewhere inside him and he started crying for real now. He closed his eyes again, turning his head a little as if that would keep Steve from seeing. Steve felt as though he shouldn’t be here, like he was intruding on something—something he sure as hell didn’t want to see in the first place—but he couldn’t just _leave Bucky like this_. He watched him trying to keep his tears under control for a moment before giving in.

He leaned over and put his arm around his shoulders.

Bucky tensed up for a moment. It dawned on him that this _might_ have been a bad idea, but then he was startled by Bucky leaning into his side, hiding his face against his shoulder.

_What the hell did he do now?_ He had _no idea_ what to do from here. He turned slightly, the better to support his weight, bringing his free hand up to rest against the back of his neck. He was heavy against his chest, as if he was too tired even to support his _own_ weight now. Every once in a while, his whole body would shudder slightly as he let out another sob, muffled by Steve’s shirt.

Steve talked to him softly, reassuring him that he was safe and that HYDRA was gone and nothing could hurt him now. It was unsettling, seeing him so broken down like this, but he couldn’t worry about _that_ now. He played with his hair as he waited for him to calm down.

He stopped crying gradually, as he slowly stopped shaking and his breathing finally returned to something somewhat normal. He let out a long, shuddery sigh, his face still hidden. Neither of them tried to move.

Bucky was practically sitting in Steve’s lap, his head tucked right underneath his chin and his arms draped loosely around his waist. It would have been completely embarrassing for both of them any other time, but for how he didn’t seem to care much, so neither did he. Besides, it was comforting, having him there. It was good to know that he was home, and safe, and at least not acting quite as cold as he’d been lately. Maybe it had been good for him to let some of this bullshit out.

 

Bucky didn’t really want to move any more than Steve seemed to. He was warm and _very_ comfortable and even though he should be completely mortified by this whole situation (but he’d deal with that in the morning), he wanted to just fall asleep here. Something that could be said for Steve was that he could keep a damn secret. He’d never tell a soul about this, not on his life. All he had to do was hope Sam didn’t come back too soon, because he _knew_ he still looked like he’d been crying for hours, which wasn’t something he wanted to explain to anyone.

But that was his fault, anyway. Steve had touched him, and he’d immediately lost his shit. He hadn’t been able to control himself or his stupid pent-up, repressed memories or his fear or his anger or whatever _else_ and he’d just… lost it. And then he’d gone and _cuddled up to him._ Which he was still doing. At least Steve wasn’t mad about it yet.

It felt kind of nice, in a way, to get all that off his chest. Like he’d been suffocating and even if he still hadn’t told him anything, really, it helped lift some of the weight that had been pinning him down.

He’d get to telling him, eventually. That or he’d finally be out of here for good. Either way, it was a nice thought. But the idea of leaving this behind almost made him sad… he found himself pressing closer to Steve’s chest, closing his eyes, holding onto him even tighter.

Which was ridiculous, because this was never going to happen again anyway, whether he stuck around or not.

“’M sorry…” his voice was still muffled but hopefully at least somewhat intelligible.   

Steve shifted a little underneath him. “It’s okay Buck. It’s not your fault…”  
But it was, no matter how either of them could try and look at it. He sat up again, reluctantly pulling himself away from Steve. It had been nice and all… but he couldn’t let himself get used to that again. “Can you—can you not tell Sam about that?”

“’Course I won’t. But we need to tell him _something._ He’s gonna want to know what happened.”

Bucky wiped his eyes again, curling up against the arm of the couch and looking over at Steve, thinking. “Tell him the truth, I guess. That I just felt trapped here and I needed to get out for a little while.”

Seemed reasonable. It was even a little bit true. He could almost be proud of coming up with it.

Steve nodded. “Okay… I’ll tell him. And if he asks you about it himself you’re just gonna stick with that?”

_Wow, way to be subtle, Rogers._ “Yeah. I’ll go with that.”

He kind of wondered why he hadn’t tried to pry more. Maybe he figured he’d gone through enough shit for one night, or maybe he thought if he left him alone he’d decide to talk about it in his own time. While he had no intention of doing that, he appreciated the gesture. While he might have been a better liar than Steve was he still didn’t like having to do it.

Steve seemed to have accepted it, outwardly at least. If it was bothering him (and it probably was) he wasn’t letting on. “Okay, I guess. It’s… It’s late. We should probably go to bed, unless…”

“I’m not going to be able to sleep,” Bucky said flatly. After this? He didn’t want to lie awake for hours, thinking about how much he’d just fucked things up and how Steve would be worried about him, and how that was nothing compared to how much more he was about to fuck things up and how much more Steve was going to be worried about him when he left for good, next time. Maybe he could just stay up and read or something until Sam came back home.

“Me neither.”

_Naturally._

“D’you want to stay up and watch a movie or something? I mean, it’s late anyway. We could just watch _Star Wars._ We’ve got the whole rest of the series to finish.”

He looked so hopeful—Bucky couldn’t say no to that. “Fine.”

He smiled, making his heart almost seem to stop for a moment. He swallowed, hard, trying to get a hold of himself, as Steve got up from the couch.

“I’m gonna make some hot chocolate. Be back in a few minutes.”

They’d used to make hot chocolate all the time—when it was cold out, or one of them had had a bad day, or when they’d spent the night together as kids, the very first night after they’d moved in together… he was sure there was more but it was all he could remember, for now.

He smiled slightly at the thought. That was the first memory he had that hadn’t been too painful to think about. It was almost… sort of pleasant? Yeah, he’d be holding onto this one.

He was alone with his thoughts for several more minutes before muffled swearing from the other room brought him into the kitchen. “Steve? You okay?”

Now that he thought about it, he probably shouldn’t have left him in the kitchen by himself anyway. He was a terrible cook, and though Bucky himself was only slightly better, they were lucky the house hadn’t burned down already. But luckily there were no grease fires to deal with this time. Steve was mopping up a puddle of milk from the counter. He turned around when he heard Bucky, his face going red.

Bucky laughed softly, and Steve turned away again, although not fast enough for him to miss the glaringly obvious, relieved look on his face.

“I was just gonna go and put this stuff away. It’s about done,” he said, putting the cap back on the milk.

“Yeah, punk. I’ll take care of it. See if I can make it to the fridge without dumping anything on the floor?”

He sighed. “I’ll try not to trip you.”

He put everything away while Steve poured their hot chocolate into a couple of mugs and carried them back to the living room, then started to look for the TV remote.

Bucky wandered back in and dropped onto the couch, while Steve did whatever he needed to do to start the movie. He picked up his hot chocolate from the coffee table, looking up in surprise when Steve sat down beside him a moment later.

This whole night had gone a hell of a lot better than he’d expected, really. Steve hadn’t even tried to make him tell the truth about why he’d left, which was about all he’d wanted in the first place. All this, the hot chocolate and the movie and how he wasn’t being treated like he was made of glass, it was way more than he deserved. But he appreciated it, nonetheless.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the boys are ok now
> 
> shame if something were to 
> 
> fuck that up for them


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its sooo short and i was just gonna cut it out because its not relevant to the plot or anything  
> but i thought why the hell not 350 words is better than no words
> 
> enjoy

They must have fallen asleep on the couch together, sometime after the movie ended, because that was how they woke up. Bucky was half pinned down underneath Steve, who was practically lying on top of him, his head on his shoulder. _Cute._

He ran his fingers through his hair, unable to help the smile on his face. He was tired, and he had a hell of a lot to think about now, after what had just happened, but he was happy nonetheless.

Steve still cared about him, enough to deal with his overemotional bullshit without even asking for a real explanation, and then… then he’d acted like everything was _normal_ , which had been exactly what Bucky had needed. It was so sweet of him to look out for him that way.

He sighed wistfully.

He wished more than _anything_ that he could return the favor, but that was impossible, because he would be leaving soon, and in any case, what would he do? Steve didn’t need anything from him. He was fine on his own, and it seemed like he’d adjusted to this century so remarkably well. Bucky was jealous of that—he’d never have the opportunity to try and fit in as well as Steve did. Not while he was a wanted criminal, which he was certainly doomed to be for the rest of his life. But he’d accepted that, so… it was all right. As long as he and Steve were free, that was enough.

He was still playing with his hair. It was soft, and he was so warm and heavy against his shoulder. It made him want to go right back to sleep, but judging from the sunlight coming in through the windows it was already pretty late.

But he could stay there a little longer, right? Steve had been through hell the night before. He needed all the rest he could get now, even if he _was_ still a supersoldier.

So he stayed put, his eyes closed as he held onto Steve and let himself pretend that they were back in their apartment in Brooklyn, because that wasn’t a bad memory, either, until—almost an hour later—he started to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bigger update coming soon if i dont make any last minute plans this weekend (lmao)  
> and we'll find out what happened to sam and nat
> 
> peace out


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise surprise, didn't make any plans after all
> 
> enjoy :3

He may have fallen asleep again—he wasn’t entirely sure. He was disturbed a little while later by movement from Steve. Opening his eyes blearily, he looked down at him.

“Morning…” he smiled slightly, reaching up to brush his hair away from his face the way he would have done seventy years ago.

“Morning.” He smiled faintly. “Sleep okay?”

Yeah, he’d slept… great, actually. Whether that had more to do with Steve being there or the alcohol or just finally having gotten out of the house, he wasn’t sure, but he felt okay this morning, which was a rather remarkable feat on his part. “I slept all right. You want breakfast?”

He felt like they shouldn’t stay here too long. It didn’t seem right to get too comfortable, and in any case, this was _Steve._ He definitely shouldn’t be doing this with _him._

“Yeah.” 

Bucky couldn’t help the feeling of disappointment that washed over him, which was totally unfair to Steve. “You’re on top of me, punk.”

He didn’t move for a moment, and for a moment he didn’t think he was even going to bother, but then he sat up, finally allowing Bucky to get up, too. He tried not to stare as he stretched, but it was hard _not_ to notice just how well-built and muscular he was and how his t-shirt tightened across his chest _like that,_ just for a second before he relaxed again. He looked away quickly, his chest suddenly feeling tight and his whole body seeming to burn with an uncomfortable, prickling feeling. He was _jealous._

“Breakfast?”

“Yeah.” _Right. That was why they were getting up._ Breakfast. “What d’you want to eat?”

“Don’t feel like anything too extravagant.” He shrugged, picking up their mugs from the night before from the coffee table. “We could make pancakes or something… save the leftovers for when Sam gets back?”

 _Where_ was _he?_ After he’d left so quickly and mysteriously, he’d have thought he would have at least called with an explanation. He was starting to get a little bit worried. “Sure. I’ll help. I… I remember the recipe.”

If Steve was surprised or pleased or _anything,_ he didn’t show it. _When did he get so good at hiding his feelings?_ It wasn’t like him, and it was kind of starting to get old.

He stood up and stretched for a moment, then headed for the kitchen. “We should have everything we need… he just went shopping a couple days ago. And we haven’t been cooking much, anyway.”

Steve had followed him into the kitchen and was looking around as if he were a little lost. Bucky got the feeling he hadn’t actually cooked for himself in a while. Not that Bucky had, really—Sam did most of the cooking lately, except for when he was too tired and he occasionally felt like trusting someone else with that sort of thing. But even what seemed to be the most basic 21st century technology had a pretty steep learning curve, so he didn’t get around to it all too often.

They started to get the ingredients they needed together. The recipe was easy enough, and they’d made it a thousand times. They were interrupted, though, by a knock at the door. It wasn’t hard to guess who it would be.

“Sam,” Steve said after only a moment, glancing up towards the door, his eyes wide and anxious. “I’ll get it.”

 _Because what if it wasn’t? What if the unexpected knock on the door wasn’t Sam after all, but, perhaps, the FBI?_ He swallowed back his nerves and went back to stirring the pancake batter as Steve went to answer the door. Even if it was the FBI, he’d be all right. Steve would be able to warn him somehow, he’d give him the opportunity to sneak back outside and escape. They both knew how good at that he was, after all.

He tried to listen for what was going on outside, but to no avail. It was all just vague, muffled voices, impossible to make out who it was. His pulse began to rise slightly as he waited for someone to come and arrest him. _He wasn’t even going to be able to finish making breakfast._ Which was a completely inane thought to have right now, but he didn’t care.

Finally, he heard several pairs of footsteps returning to the kitchen. He turned around reluctantly, not wanting to see exactly who was going to be arresting him, but to his surprise, it was only Steve and Sam. And Clint, standing slightly behind them, and then Nat.

“You guys want breakfast?” He asked after a moment’s awkward silence. _What the fuck were they doing there? Hell, were they even going to tell him anything?_

“Fuck yeah.” Clint’s voice was hoarse. And he looked like hell, honestly. Not like “spent the last couple of days fighting bad guys” hell, but like, “really bad flu” hell. _Weird._ Natasha looked okay. So did Sam.

“Looks like you guys got everything under control,” Sam observed. “Clint, you can come with me and I can get you something for your headache. And some food will do you some good. Nat, can you make some coffee or tea or something?”

And just like that, Sam and Clint were gone again, leaving Steve and Bucky alone with Natasha.

Bucky looked around uncomfortably for a moment as Steve took over finishing the pancakes. “What happened to Clint? If… you can tell me.”

Natasha still kind of scared him—he didn’t want to unnecessarily provoke her, but at the same time he was worried about his friend. _What if he was hurt? And worse, what if it was his fault somehow?_ Maybe someone had found a way to connect the two of them...

“He had a… bad episode last night,” she said. “While you were out running around the city.” Her tone was, in his opinion, justifiably accusatory. “He’s all right now. Just hungover.”

That was clearly all the information he was going to get, but in hindsight it was way more than he’d ever wanted to know. Clint always seemed so… happy-go-lucky. Relaxed. He supposed it only made sense that he’d have a darker side, even if Bucky never really thought about it. He’d been through some shit, after all. At least he was okay—according to Natasha. Maybe she didn’t want him to pry. Which, of course, he didn't really want to anymore, even if he was worried.

“I’m glad he’s okay,” he said after a moment, wishing he had something else to say.

She nodded, watching him a moment longer before turning around to make coffee. Steve glanced over at the two of them. “Breakfast is almost ready… Buck, you can set the table, I guess. Is the dishwasher full?”

He shrugged. “I think if anyone’s done the dishes since you left yesterday they’re still in there. Don’t think anyone would have bothered to unload it.”

Steve shook his head, looking disappointed—like he could say much on the matter—and Bucky went to check. Sure enough, it had run but it was still full. He went to grab some plates and silverware, looking up as Clint and Sam came back into the kitchen. Natasha pushed past him, almost making him drop the plate he was holding, and handed Clint a mug of tea. _When had she had time to make that?_ Clint at least looked better than he had before, if only marginally. Whatever Sam had given him must have helped.

Now that they were all in the kitchen, Steve took the opportunity to herd everyone else over to the dining room table while Bucky finished setting out the silverware. They ate in silence, mostly because Clint and Sam, who were usually the ones to initiate conversation, were both unusually quiet.

Bucky was anxious to finish eating and get away from the table, and he had a feeling everyone else was, too. He wasn’t sure where anyone planned to disappear to, exactly, because Sam’s house wasn’t big by any means, but it would be nice to not be trapped at this table in the same room as everyone else.

But at least the food was good.

Steve was the first person to get up from the table. “I’m gonna go and unload the dishwasher.”

Sam stood up, too. “No, don’t worry about it. Somebody’ll do it eventually. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, actually. If you’ve got a second.”

He looked confused, but Bucky figured he knew _exactly_ what he wanted to talk about. “Sure. I’ve got plenty of time. Don’t worry about that.”

So Sam led him out of the room, presumably to where they could talk about Bucky somewhere more private, leaving the other three to sit in awkward silence while they finished eating.

 

Steve was pretty sure he knew where this was going, too. He was going to have to explain what had happened with Bucky sooner or later, so he might as well not bother stalling and just get it over with.  
He let Sam guide him out of the dining room, through the living room, and down the hall to his bedroom, which was presumably where he planned to question him. _All he had to do was tell him that he’d felt trapped and he needed to go out for a drink._ Easy. He could get away with that.

“So… after I left, last night… you and Bucky got a chance to talk about where he went?”

He thought he would have been prepared for the question, when Sam asked it, but he wasn’t. “I—I…” he stammered for a moment, not even sure how to answer as simple a question as that. “Yeah. We did.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, skeptical. _Damn it, why did he have to make him so_ nervous, _sometimes? It made it so hard to get away with shit like this._ But this was what Bucky had wanted him to do. “He felt trapped here. He needed to get out of the house for a little bit, so he went out for a drink.”

“Really? That seems irresponsible, for him.” The look on his face wasn’t _doubt,_ exactly. Or, if it was, it wasn’t about Bucky’s ability to act like a responsible adult. Rather, he was trying to detect a lie.

“That’s what he told me, Sam.”

He nodded. “I believe that.” _Maybe he did?_ But he’d be talking to Bucky about this, too. No doubt about that. “While we have everyone here, we can take the opportunity to talk about another solution to this issue.” He gestured around the room, presumably meaning Bucky. “I don’t know how things are going on Nat’s side… haven’t gotten an actual update from her in a while. I assume things haven't changed, but if they've cooled down, maybe he can come out of hiding. He certainly can’t stay here forever. It’s getting difficult for my paycheck to support the two of us.”

It took Steve a moment to process everything he’d just said. “Come… come out of hiding?”

He nodded. “Steve, you can’t protect him like this forever. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to face the real world, and if that means dealing with the consequences of harboring a fugitive then _that’s what we have to do_ , Steve.”

“There’s a _manhunt_ going on _right now,_ Sam. Do you know what they’ll do to him if he gets caught?” He forced himself to keep his voice low, not wanting the others to overhear.

“I know. But it’ll be easier if he turns himself in, at least. And he’ll have all of us advocating for him. It’s not much, but it’ll help.”

Steve glared at him for a moment, silent. At last, he said, “We’re his _friends._ We can’t just turn him in.”

Bucky had made that promise to him, after all— _“I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.”_ And he was going to keep up his end of it, too. He owed it to him, and not only that but he didn’t _want_ to break it. Because it was Bucky, his best friend since childhood, the man he’d grown up with and fought alongside and _loved_ all these years. He wasn’t going to give in and just give him up _now_. Not after everything they’d been through. 

Sam sighed, his face resolute. “You’re not thinking clearly, Steve. Let’s talk to the others, including Bucky, about it and see what they think. This isn’t up to us, after all.”

 _He was right. This_ was _out of his hands…_ He nodded, defeated. “Okay, we’ll talk to him about it. But if he wants to stay hidden we can’t just turn him in, all right? We can deal with the logistics.”

He looked away. “Steve. I know you love him. He’s your best friend. I understand that. But you’re thinking about _yourself_. You’re all hung up on what’s going to happen if they get him, if he goes back, what if you two get separated, and I know… I’ve been through that. But you need to think about the future, worry about what’ll happen if he gets _captured_ , because then they’re not going to trust him. He won’t be able to speak for himself and we won’t be able to speak up for him, either, because we’ll be in the same boat. I know it’s hard for you to think about, hard for you to deal with, but it’s not gonna be easy for the rest of us, either. We can talk about it later today and decide what we’re going to do. You’re not going to get separated, Steve. I can promise you that.”

He nodded mutely, simply at a loss for words.

Sam seemed to accept that as an answer and clapped him on the shoulder, turning to leave the room without another word.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh boy  
> just watched the first avengers again  
> steve, man, i love you but you are a dumbass
> 
> also like,, every single line in that movie is just,, Iconic?
> 
> and it's beautiful and cinematic and shit on top of all that  
> (*cough*Loki)
> 
> might write a lil short story based on it too so be on the look out, i'll keep y'all updated :P
> 
> anyway peace out


	19. Chapter 19

By the time Steve worked up the courage to make his way back out into the living room, everyone else had left the table. Someone was unloading the dishwasher. _Bucky._ He wandered towards the kitchen—maybe he could just stay there for a little while. Because Natasha and Clint were in the living room, and Sam was nowhere to be found, that didn’t leave him with too many other options. Besides, he felt weird and lonely and stressed out, so his natural reaction was to go and see his friend.

Bucky looked up when he heard him coming in, not really seeming surprised to see him. “Hey, Stevie.”

He grinned, leaning against the counter where he could see Bucky but still be out of his way. “Your hand holding up okay?”

He looked almost startled, as if he’d forgotten about it. “My… hand?” Then he seemed to remember, setting down the plate he was holding and looking down at it. “It’s okay. Been better… I scraped it up climbing through the window. But it’s healing.”

“Have you been taking care of it?”

“I’m right handed, y’know. But I tried.”

_The bandages_ did _look kind of sloppy…_ he’d seen him trying to wrap it up the first time, right after he’d gotten cut. “Do you want me to help you, next time?”

Bucky’s ears went slightly pink and he felt almost bad for suggesting it, if it had embarrassed him. “I… yeah. I heal fast, but if you’re around and I need help with it then you can do it for me.”

He was about to say something else, but he looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching. _Sam._ “Let’s talk. While everyone’s still here.”

“Huh?” It took him a moment to process what he meant—he’d been distracted by Bucky.

“What d’you mean?” He closed the dishwasher and looked up at the two of them, fiddling with the bandage on his hand. “Talk about what?”

Sam sighed. “Steve said you told him you felt 'trapped' here. We can talk about a solution to that while everyone’s already here, save ourselves the trouble of trying to meet up again later or talking separately.”

_Why were they doing this so soon…?_ He wasn’t prepared to even think about something like this, but… Sam had a point. It was better to do it now than wait until they could all get together again. Besides, it was Bucky’s call. Not his. 

“Okay.”

Steve’s stomach dropped slightly. _They were doing this._

“C’mon, then. Clint and Nat are in the living room. We can talk there, that’ll be easiest.”

They both followed him out of the kitchen, suddenly feeling a little awkward for reasons that they couldn’t seem to pin down as they sat down on the couch. Natasha was watching them like a hawk, while Clint still seemed a little bit out of it.

Sam sat down in the one remaining chair. “Might as well just cut to the chase,” he said after a moment. “Bucky, you can’t stay here forever. You don’t like being here, from what Steve said you told him about last night, and sooner or later we’re going to have to do something about that.”

He stayed silent, watching him with apprehension.

“And it’s dangerous, because you could get caught, staying here like this. And you’re putting the rest of us in danger—we’re harboring a fugitive.”

“We signed up for this,” Steve broke in, seeing the look on Bucky’s face. _Sam had just wanted him to know the facts, but did he have to be so damn harsh about it?_

Sam looked over at him. “We agreed to this. We did. We know the risks. But it’s not working as well as it has in the past.”

“They want you to come out of hiding,” Natasha said softly, her face impassable.

Bucky was still quiet, his face unreadable. Guilty, maybe. Ashamed, scared. Wondering what was going to happen to him? _When did he get so hard to read?_

“It’s your decision to make,” Sam said gently. “You’re welcome to stay, if that’s what you want, but if you’d be happier somewhere else, then that’s an option, too.”

Steve was surprised by how _kind_ he sounded. When he saw the two of them together, they rarely seemed like… like this. So… close.

Bucky nodded, slowly. “Like you said… it would be dangerous for me to stay here. For me, and for you. It’s hard for someone like me to stay hidden, with so many people after me. And if I get caught, then… that’s bad. We could _all_ get locked up for that.”

Sam nodded. “That’s the truth. I know it’s hard to hear—” he shot a sidelong glance at Steve that was extremely difficult to miss— “But it’s what we have to deal with. So… how do we proceed?”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on the coffee table, not saying a word. Clint was equally silent. Steve thought he looked rather ill.

They were all waiting for Bucky, who seemed to be taking his time, or maybe waiting for someone else to do the talking. Finally, he spoke up. “I’d like to come out of hiding.”

Whatever Steve had been expecting, that wasn’t it. He looked around the room, desperate, expecting someone to object but no one did. Sam’s face was unreadable, as was Natasha’s. Clint might not have known what was going on. “I… what?”

“I’d like to come out of hiding,” he repeated calmly, as if Steve simply hadn’t heard him.

Sam sighed. “If… if you’re sure that’s what you want.”

Steve looked from one to the other, disbelieving. He was going to _let this happen? Without so much as even talking about their other options, first? Anything_ would have been better than this!

Bucky nodded, seeming sure of himself. “It’s what I want. No one will even know you guys were involved.”

His mouth went dry, his throat seeming to close up slightly. If he’d wanted to say something, to argue, he couldn’t have.

“We don’t need to go that far,” Sam said, as if he’d taken pity on Steve. _Maybe he had._ “We’ll take responsibility. Or, I will. Can’t speak for the rest of them.”

“I will, too.” Steve looked up suddenly. “If… if that’s what you want.” _He’d do it, if that was_ really _what Bucky wanted him to do._ He’d stand up for him, if he needed him to. _Because wasn’t that what friends were for—_ Even if he’d been a kind of shitty one lately? Well, all the more chances to make up for it, he figured.

But Bucky was shaking his head. “No. Thank you, but… no. This is all my fault. You don’t need to get involved. It’s all on me. I can take care of myself.”

Even Natasha and Clint looked disapproving at that.

“Bucky—” Sam started, but Natasha cut him off.

“He’s right,” she said softly. “You guys stepping in to try to take the blame isn’t going to help anyone. It’s only going to get you into trouble, too. Even if it’s a nice thought, and I’m not saying that it isn’t, that’s _all_ it is. We need a way out of this that’s going to do the least possible amount of damage.”

_Did she have to be so blunt about it?_

“Natasha, you’ve got a point.” Sam sighed, looking over at Bucky, who just seemed ashamed now. “But it’s not just about minimizing the damage. We need to consider who’s going to be involved and how it’s going to affect _everyone—_ never mind the legal consequences.”

“But what do we do about any of that?” Steve broke in. “If he wants to do it, then… he wants to do it.”

Bucky looked down at the floor. “If you guys have any other ideas… I wouldn’t mind hearing you out.”

Natasha cleared her throat. “We could find him a place of his own. The manhunt is cooling down, so it’s safer than it was. Hell, if we’re being optimistic about things, I think it’ll turn into a cold case soon. But that would solve the problem of where he’s going to go, at least temporarily. I could get you all the fake ID’s, credit cards, anything you’ll need. Easy. And the apartment will be no problem, either.”

He could believe that, all right. It wasn’t perfect, and it sure wouldn’t be permanent, but he’d have Bucky there and _safe_ and _free._ But what did he think of this plan, anyway?

He looked… undecided, to say the least. He was looking from one person to the next—Sam, Nat, Steve, Clint, back again—biting his lip and shifting uncomfortably beside him. _Was he even going to say anything?_ It didn’t seem like it. He looked pretty unprepared for all this, to be honest.

Finally, he cleared his throat softly. “I need more time to think,” he said. “I don’t want to put you all in danger, but also I don’t want to overstay my welcome here. Can I give you my answer in a couple of days?”

Sam, who he’d been looking at—pretty much the first time he’d made direct eye contact with anyone since they’d sat down—nodded. “Take as much time as you need, Bucky. We’ll wait.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, you thought i was going to resolve this issue.   
> it ain't that easy, dudes.
> 
> sorry for the wait lmao i fried my brain writing IB essays
> 
> peace out


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daaaamn twenty chapters already
> 
> happy monday dudes

All Steve wanted after that was to _get out of there._ He didn’t think he could even be in the same room as Bucky, much less _talking to him_ , because if he was, then he’d have to think about him and them and everyone and what was going to happen to all of them. And if he did any of that, he figured, he just might explode.

So, he excused himself, hastily. “I… I’m going to have to go in to work in a couple of hours,” he explained, even though that wasn’t true at all. “I should—I should go.”

Bucky looked over at him, eyes wide and anxious. _‘So soon?’_ He seemed to be saying.

He was almost sorry to go but he knew he _couldn’t_ stay here. He’d be gone just long enough to get his shit together. He had to come back the next day, anyway, so… it wasn’t like he’d miss anything. Aside from Bucky. Damn, was he going to miss Bucky. But it was for the best if he got out of here for a little bit, because he was about to be no good to anyone.

“You still coming tomorrow?” There was that little crease between Sam’s eyebrows—he was worried. _Of course_ he was worried.

“’Course I’m coming.” He stood up, glancing over at Bucky for _just a second,_ startled when he actually made eye contact. _Damn, he had pretty eyes. Really nice eyelashes. This was… a really bad time to notice something like that._

“Well… see you then.”

Everyone else stayed where they were as Steve retrieved his jacket and then headed for the door. Clint and Natasha were probably going to head out soon, too. Clint didn’t seem to have issues with Bucky, but Natasha did, so she was most likely going to drag Clint home with her as soon as she could.

He’d parked his car haphazardly the night before—he’d been in a hurry. And who could blame him? Anyway, it made getting out of his parking spot a little bit tricky, but he managed.

It might have been easier if he wasn’t so shaky and out of it that he could hardly concentrate on what he was doing, but he _did_ make it home in one piece without hitting anyone.

He took the elevator up to his apartment—they were so weird and… quiet, these days, without the elevator music or an _operator_ , but he hardly noticed anymore. There were usually other things on his mind.

He fumbled for his key, his hands shaking, and managed to unlock the door fairly quickly. Luckily, none of his neighbors came by while he was still outside.

Once he was inside, though, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He felt like shit, obviously, but it wasn’t _quite_ at panic attack-level yet, so he was just kind of… lost. He was tired. Disoriented. Kind of weak—part of him just wanted to take a nap. Actually, that wasn’t too bad of a solution. So, he kicked off his shoes at the door and, without bothering to take off his jacket, because it was cold as all hell in his apartment, anyway, stumbled into his bedroom. He half-collapsed onto the bed, rolling over onto his back and looking up at the stark, off-white ceiling.

He sighed, Bucky’s voice replaying in his head. _“I’d like to come out of hiding… No one will even know you were involved…”_ He sounded so hollow and… empty.

He closed his eyes, Bucky’s voice seeming to get clearer as he did. It might have been almost soothing to think about if not for the words he was saying. He wanted to hear that voice again, but he couldn’t just  _call him_. He didn’t answer the phone, which meant he’d have to explain himself to Sam first, and _damn_ he didn’t need that right now.

So, he was left alone with his thoughts and Bucky’s voice, which had shifted over to saying, _“C’mon, punk. You look like shit… and it’s not gonna heal up right unless you get some sleep. Come on.”_

Damn it, he wished Bucky were here right now. Selfish? Maybe. But he always knew _exactly_ how to deal with shit like this, even if it wasn’t ever as simple as just turning around and promising to stay. He had a way of making Steve forget about whatever was wrong in the world for a little while—he’d always wished _he_ could do that.

But thinking about all this was just making him miss him even _more_ , because who _knew_ when (or _if_ ) he was going to see him again, and… he sure wasn’t the same cute little kid he used to know, anyway, and _who knew if he even cared about him anymore?_

He took a shaky breath, reaching up to press his hands over his eyes. _Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. What did it matter? He had no control over it._

But it _did_ matter, apparently. He bit his lip, not wanting to let himself cry over something like this, because that sure wasn’t going to help him. But whether he wanted to or not, that didn’t seem to matter, because a moment later he was _sobbing._

There wasn’t much he could do about it, really. So, he let himself fall apart, curled up on his side on top of the covers, one hand clamped firmly over his mouth. It wasn’t as though he could have held it together for much longer, anyway, even if he wanted to try. It was exhausting, and not all that effective.

When it _finally_ seemed to stop, he was exhausted. He didn’t know how just _crying_ had taken that kind of energy out of him, because he had the serum, for Christ’s sake, didn’t he? He could run for miles and take on basically _anything,_ but this made him feel all shaky and weak and like he could just _pass out._ And worse, it hadn’t even resolved anything, after all, because he _still_ felt like shit and he certainly still missed Bucky. _God, when was this nightmare going to end?_

Fucking hell, he didn’t even have a reason to miss him. He was going to see him again in, what, less than twenty-four hours? And he didn’t really have much to miss in the meantime, either, because their relationship still wasn’t _great,_ even he didn't hate him.

He sighed softly, reaching up to rub his eyes. They burned a little, as if there was smoke or maybe dust in them, but of course there wasn’t.

A shower would probably do him some good right about now. And then he’d give in and just call Sam’s house. It was worth having to explain himself to Sam if he got the chance to talk to Bucky.

He sat up, stiffly, then slid off the bed and went to get himself a change of clothes and a towel. _Hopefully he wouldn’t just fall asleep in the shower. That would be embarrassing._

But, luckily for him, he didn’t, although he spent far too long in there and used up an ungodly amount of hot water. But what was he gonna do about that? It felt nice.

It was nearly one in the afternoon by the time he’d reluctantly dragged himself out of the shower and gotten dressed. He was actually kind of nervous about talking to Bucky, now that he thought about it, but his worry for his friend—and himself—outweighed the weird, fluttery feeling in his stomach. Besides, being nervous about _that_ was ridiculous. Sure, their relationship wasn’t what it used to be, but he wasn’t going to chew him out for calling.

So, he picked up the phone to call Sam’s landline. He was the only one of his friends who still _had_ a landline. He would have gotten one himself if he thought he needed it, but he hardly ever made calls from home anymore.

He held his breath as he waited for him to pick up, which he almost always did. And if not him, then maybe he’d get _really_ lucky and just be able to talk to Bucky right away.

But he wasn’t _that_ lucky.

“Steve?” Sam’s voice came through the phone so disconcertingly clearly—he’d never gotten used to that. “You doing all right?”

_Fuck, did he know or was he just guessing? How_ could _he know, he wasn’t a mind reader._ “I’m… I’m okay, Sam. Don’t worry. Can I-can I talk to Bucky?”

“You’re not gonna try and change his mind.”

He shook his head, then remembered that Sam couldn’t see him. “No. No, of-of course not! I just want to talk to him.”

He sighed, wordlessly.

“Please?”

“Okay. But if you say _anything_ to him about what happened earlier, I’m gonna come find you and kick your ass, all right? I’m not even gonna wait for you to come over tomorrow. Because he’s got enough to worry about without other peoples’ opinions getting thrown in.”

“I know, Sam.” He sighed softly. “I won’t mention it.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll go and get him, just a second.”

Of course, he was still technically there, because it wasn’t one of those phones that attached to the wall with a cord that he’d seen back in the ‘40’s. This one was wireless. He wasn’t sure how that worked, and he didn’t care, but the point was that he could just find Bucky and bring the phone over to him, instead of leaving it in the kitchen while he went to find him, so that was cool.

It was the kind of thing Bucky himself would have been _so_ interested back in the day. And if he wasn’t careful, he was going to make himself all emotional and shit again, over a damn _cordless phone—_ “Steve?”

His breath hitched a little in surprise. “Hey. Buck.”

“Why’d you call…? Is something wrong?” He sounded nervous—Steve’s fault. He’d made him nervous.

“N-no, of course not,” he said, even though it was. “It’s… it’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you.” _Damn, that was pathetic._

“Oh.” He let out a soft, relieved sound. It could have almost been a laugh. “It’s… it’s nice to hear from you.”

He swallowed, hard. “I… yeah. It’s nice to hear you—nice to hear from you, too.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Steve. I know you’re not just gonna _call_ me. What’s goin’ on? It’s okay, I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

_Damn it._ Sam was going to kill him. “It’s… it’s no big deal. I’m just…” _What_ was _he, exactly? What did he want out of this? What did he expect_ Bucky _to give him?_

“’S okay, Steve. Don’t worry about that. It’ll be nice to just talk.”

He felt the corners of his mouth lift into a slight smile as some of the weight from earlier lifted off his chest. _Okay. That was easy. Bucky didn’t expect anything from him._ They could just talk. “What’s goin’ on over there?”

“Clint and Nat left not long after you did. Clint seemed pretty sick, but he talked to me for a little bit before she dragged him off. It was… it was weird. He felt bad for me. Said he heard about what happened and his night hadn’t gone much differently…” he sighed.

“He’s doing okay, though?” He wondered if Bucky would even be able to tell.

“I think so. He’s sick, but it’ll wear off. He’ll feel a hell of a lot better when it does.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He laid back on his bed and looked up at the ceiling again, although this time he felt far more relaxed doing so.

“You _are_ coming back over tomorrow, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.” He smiled softly. “Eleven o’clock.” _He was almost kind of looking forward to it._

“Sam wanted to make tomato soup for dinner tomorrow night, you staying for that?”

“Hell yeah, I am.” Bucky used to make great tomato soup—not the kind that came from the can. He had strong opinions on Campbell’s tomato soup, and they generally weren't all that nice, so, he preferred to make his own. His ma had had a recipe. Sam’s was a lot like it, too.

“So, nice, lazy day tomorrow, got nothing goin’ on?”

“Yeah…” he sighed softly. “Looking forward to it.” Despite his flaws, Bucky was an absolute _angel_ when Steve needed him to be. He knew _exactly_ what topic he wanted to avoid talking about, and—bless him—he didn’t seem to want to talk about it any more than Steve did. “All right with you guys if I spend the night?”

“You spend the night here all the time, Stevie. Why are you asking now?”

To tell the truth, he wasn’t quite sure, either. “I dunno… I guess I wanted to make sure you guys didn’t make any plans or anything.”

He laughed. He actually _laughed._ “What, Sam and me? D’you think we’re gonna have a night out or something?”

“Okay, okay, you’re right.” He smiled faintly. “He’s more of a night-in kinda guy.”

There was a moment’s silence on the end of the line, and Steve wondered if he’d said something wrong. Wouldn’t be the most astonishing thing in the world.

When Bucky finally spoke, his voice was tense and quiet. “Steve? I’ll call you back.”

There was a soft beep, and then silence. He’d hung up. Steve turned his phone off and tossed it onto the bed beside him, more bewildered than anything else. _What was that about?_ He’d sounded worried—all he had to do, he supposed, was wait for him to call again. But he didn’t _like_ waiting like this. This was Bucky’s area of expertise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i made a 95 on my essay! it wasn't worth it
> 
> more updates coming soon-- tune in about sometime next week, folks
> 
> peace out


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop sorry for the delay guys

Bucky _hated_ hanging up on him like that—he could tell he needed someone to talk to, but Sam wasn’t giving him that option at the moment. He’d been sitting on the couch in the living room, and Sam had been in the kitchen, but he’d come back into the living room while they’d been talking.

Now, normally, he’d have given him shit for interrupting them like that, but based on the look on Sam’s face, he could tell that now wasn’t the time. “What’s… what’s going on?” he asked softly.

Sam gestured back towards the kitchen. “Put down the phone, loverboy. Come and see.”

_Loverboy? What was that supposed to mean?_ He led him towards the window, pulling back the curtains just slightly so that they could look outside. The view was partially obscured by a tree, but from what they _could_ see, there was a large, grey van parked outside.

“How long have they been outside?”

He shook his head, letting the curtains fall back into place. “I saw them the other day. Didn’t think anything of it then. Well, actually, I thought cable guys or something. But… I guess not. ‘Cause they’ve been here for… who knows how long.”

“So, what do we do?” He asked. “Assuming it’s a stakeout.” _Was Steve going to be able to make it over, later? Who_ was _that out there?_

He shrugged. “Could call everybody else. They might have some ideas, Nat might even be able to figure out who they are. Hell, she could maybe even call ‘em off, if we’re lucky.”

“But what about later, I mean… should we risk letting anybody come back over?”

“Don’t worry, nothing’s gonna stop Steve from coming back over.” He grinned. _What had given him the impression that he was worried about Steve?_

“But isn’t it gonna be dangerous, trying to get him inside? I mean, he’s awfully, well—” he searched for the right word. “He’s recognizable.”

“He can come in the same way you did. Through the bathroom window? It’s perfect. No one’s even gonna see. Gotta give you credit for that.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I can call him back and tell him. Y’know, so we don’t forget, later?”

Sam was still grinning. _What was his problem?_ “Yeah. Go ahead and call him back.” He got the feeling that he was resisting the urge to say something else, _but what?_ “Make sure to tell him to keep an eye out, see if he can find anyone watching him, too.”

He nodded, retreating towards the living room again. He just wanted to call Steve back, apologize for hanging up on him, and explain what had happened. _Hopefully he was still available._

 

Steve was surprised to hear the phone ring. He was still lying on the bed, debating whether or not he should call him back—but no, that would be weird—when his mind was made up for him. He picked up the phone, his heart rate inexplicably quickening. “Bucky?”

“Hey, Steve. Sorry for hanging up on you like that earlier. We have a little bit of a… situation.”

“What happened?” He sat up, suddenly so nervous that he felt almost lightheaded.

“There’s a… van parked outside the house. It’s grey, unmarked. Didn’t see anyone else around. And Sam said he saw it the other day, which made us think we we're being watched. I wanted to tell you, before you come over tomorrow.”

_Tomorrow? Would he be_ able _to come tomorrow?_ “Will I—”

“You can still come over, just… don’t use the front door. Y’know how I came in, through the back?”

“Yeah.”

“You can come in that way. That’ll be safer, no one’s gonna recognize you. We can give you directions and everything, if you need ‘em.”

He smiled at that, unable to help himself. “Yeah, I’ll need directions, all right.”

“And… one more thing. Sam wanted me to tell you to keep an eye out for anyone watching you. If they’ve found me here, then it’s more than likely that they know about you, too.”

“I… yeah. I’ll look out for that.” He sighed. “How are you so calm about all this? I mean, if it were me, I’d be losing my shit right about now. This is… this is crazy. And you don’t seem scared at all.”

There was a moment’s awkward silence at the other end of the line. “I guess I’ve been in crazier situations. This one isn’t all that bad.”

_Not all that bad? Damn._ “I mean… yeah. Sure.” _Maybe he was the one who should be less worried about this?_

“Steve. There’s nothing to worry about, I promise. I’ll be okay, and so will you and Sam and everybody else. This is _nothing._ We’ll all be fine.”

“You’ve lost your mind, Buck,” he said softly. “But… if you say so.” Maybe he could trust him.

“Yeah, see? We’re all gonna be okay.” His voice was much softer than Steve was used to nowadays. Getting to hear it, like this, made this whole fucked up situation seem _just slightly_ better, even as reality and the actual danger of the situation began setting in. And maybe there was something to what Bucky was saying, after all. Even if they had to fight their way out of here, they could do that. They’d done things like that before, just the two of them, but now they had Sam and Nat and Clint to help.

“Stevie?”

He jumped a little at the sound of his voice. “S-sorry. I got… distracted.”

“You doing all right over there?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m okay. Are you…?”

“Yeah, Steve. I’m okay. Don’t—don’t worry about me.”

_Why was he acting like this, suddenly? All sweet and… concerned? What had changed—was it because he’d called him earlier?_

He sighed softly. “Okay. I guess we could both relax a little.”

“Yeah. Let’s make a point of that tomorrow, yeah?”

He smiled. “Yeah. But—I gotta go. Sorry, Steve. See you then?”

_Again? He’d tell him if something had happened, right?_

“Yeah. See you then, Buck.”

He heard a mumbled, “Bye,” on the other end of the line, and then there was a soft _beep_ as it disconnected.

He got up, tucking his phone into his pocket, and went downstairs to get something to eat.

 

Bucky _hated_ hanging up the phone like that, but Sam was watching him from the kitchen in a way that suggested that he really needed to hurry things up. He’d forgotten that he could hear him—he hadn’t said something weird, had he?

“What?” He sat up on the couch, putting the phone to the side.

“You get everything cleared up?”

He nodded. “Yeah…? Why?”

He shrugged. “Just making sure. I wanted to call Nat. See what her take is on all of this. Figured you’d want to be around for that. I’ve got a little bit of time before I have to go to work, wanted to do it now before I’m late.”

“Okay. I mean, yeah. Let’s go ahead and take care of that.” And they could check in on Clint, while they were at it. Maybe he was doing a little bit better now.

Sam pulled out his cell phone. “She’s probably with our guys right now, anyway—” he nodded towards the living room window, which was covered. “But in case she’s not busy, it’s worth a try.” He began dialing the number, sitting down on one of the chairs near the couch.

The phone rang for a while, both of them watching it intently, but she didn’t pick up. “Should we try again?” Bucky asked after a moment, looking out the window.

“No. If she could pick up right now, she would.” He shrugged. “We can try again later tonight. Maybe we’ll get lucky when she gets off work.”

He had a point, although he really didn’t like waiting for so long. At least he had something to look forward to later. “Yeah… I hope so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we have... well... I can't give too much away, can I? 
> 
> but things are heating up here, folks.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn what is this chapter 22 were goin places
> 
> sorry it took so long tho fr

Steve came over early the next day. He figured Bucky wouldn’t mind. It wasn’t so early that he’d still be asleep, and Sam would probably be at work like usual.

Besides, he wasn’t _that_ early. Only half an hour or so. While it was arguably the earliest he’d ever been for anything, he didn’t think it would matter. None of them had any particular plans that day. And he was really impatient to see Bucky, even if that was… stupid.

He called first, to get someone to let him in from the alley. Bucky answered the phone almost immediately, and Steve flattered himself for a moment thinking that he’d been waiting for him.

“You want me to come and let you in?” He asked quickly, getting right to the point.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled slightly. “I’m already here. Didn’t realize what time it was.”

“I was worried you weren’t gonna remember not to use the front door,” Bucky said with a little laugh.

Steve leaned back against the wall to wait for him. “I was worried about getting lost. Had to look your place up on Google Maps before I left.”

He really _did_ laugh this time, which made Steve’s smile widen. “I’m glad you made it. Kind of impressed.”

The window opened beside him, just then, and something hit him in the back of the head. He winced, turning around to look up at Bucky, who was grinning at him, holding Sam’s phone in one hand and a hand towel in the other. He put both of them down and leaned out.

“You need any help? I cut myself pretty bad on the window frame last time I tried to climb through.”

“You… you did?” He hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah. Right in the same spot as last time, too.” He shook his head.

“I didn’t even notice. It’s… healing... Right?”

“Yeah. You want a hand, or no?” Bucky leaned halfway out of the window so that they could see each other properly.

“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” He reached up to take the hand that Bucky held out to him. It was warm, and unbandaged. As far as he could tell, it had never been injured at all. He let Bucky help him climb up into the window, which was a difficult and awkward affair, hindered by the bag he’d brought, even with help and with all his strength.

He slipped down from the windowsill and landed on the tile on the other side, glancing around. “Sorry I’m so early,” he said, a little embarrassed.

Bucky shook his head. “It’s okay, Steve. Don’t worry about it. Did you eat breakfast this morning?”

Of course not. But it was sweet of Bucky to worry about him that way. “It’s a little late for breakfast… isn’t it? I mean, it’s almost eleven by now.”

Bucky sighed. “Steve. I’m having none of your bullshit. Come on. Knowing you, you didn’t eat dinner, either…” He was still talking as he turned around and headed towards the kitchen.

Steve was powerless to stop him—because he _hadn’t_ eaten dinner—so he followed him down the hall, dropping his bag in the living room.

“I haven’t eaten, either,” Bucky admitted.

Steve rolled his eyes. “What are you telling _me_ off for, then?” He asked impatiently.

Bucky simply chose not to answer him. “You want to make something? All the pancakes from yesterday are gone.”

“I mean, is Sam around? I feel like we should ask first…”

“He’s at work.” Bucky shrugged. “It’s fine. But I don’t _really_ feel like cooking. Unless you want to take care of it?”

Steve slowly shook his head. “You _know_ I can’t cook. I’d need help.”

“That’s what you get for living off takeout,” he said, smiling faintly. “You want to just have cereal or toast or something?”

They ended up just eating toast, both of them still in the kitchen. Bucky sat on the counter, and Steve stood nearby.

“You got any plans for today?” Steve asked.

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Me? Plans?” He laughed. Actually _laughed_. “Nah. We can just sit around and watch movies for a while. If… that’s all right with you?”

He remembered how much he’d liked _Star Wars._ “Yeah, of course! Got anything particular in mind?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not… really. Maybe we can just find something?”

“That sounds pretty good,” he agreed. “Shame we can’t go out to the theater or something…”

“Hey, we _can,”_ Bucky said with a little smile on his face.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “You wanna get arrested?”

“Figured you’d know all about that, punk.”

This felt oddly like they were back in 1940’s Brooklyn—maybe in their old apartment, maybe it was earlier, and they were at one of their families’ places. It was warm, comfortable… they were eating and talking as if they had the whole day to waste, and they did. They were safe for a little while. No one was watching them, things were… peaceful. It was nice. Steve wondered if it was out of line to want to cuddle with Bucky later while they watched whatever movie they found.

 

 

Sam didn’t come home until late that night. It seemed like he’d had a long day, because he asked for their help with dinner.

They both got up from their chairs in the living room—they’d settled down to watch _The Twilight Zone_ an hour ago, on the grounds that it sure looked like something from their time. And it hadn’t disappointed, to be fair.

Neither of them was much help in the kitchen—Steve in particular. But Sam seemed a little bit less grim, anyway. And dinner was ready pretty quickly, with no _major_ mishaps.

“Hey, we did a pretty good job on this, guys,” Steve said after a few moments’ silence.

Bucky nodded silently, his mouth full.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Thanks for your help, both of you…” he glanced towards Bucky. “Didn’t know you could cook.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “I cook all the time.”

“Like I said. Didn’t know you could cook,” he said, a little smile on his face.

Steve smiled slightly, glancing over at Bucky. He seemed right at home, actually. He and Sam got on better than he’d first thought. Well… they’d lived together for a good while. Maybe they’d just gotten used to it.

Sam and Bucky were still talking, but he was hardly paying attention. How perfect this was. He felt so safe here, with the two of them, as if nothing could go wrong. Bucky made him feel safe, and Sam was letting him stay here… it was lovely of them, really. He wished he could stay longer, but he’d be leaving early in the morning. He had to go in to work for a meeting. He’d much rather be here, but Fury wasn’t going to let him postpone. Maybe he could be a little late.

It was almost ten by the time they’d finally cleared away their dishes, all three of them insisting that they’d find the time to do it in the morning.

Sam went to get ready for bed early—he looked like he needed the rest.

That left Steve and Bucky alone again. They’d gotten used to Sam’s company over the last couple of hours, and now they weren’t quite sure what to do with themselves.

“Should we watch a couple more episodes?” Steve asked after a moment.

“Sure,” Bucky shrugged. “There’s a hell of a lot more to watch. Might as well, right?”

And hey, he couldn’t argue with that logic. “We can watch a couple, then get ready for bed and find something else?” He suggested.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Man… Imagine spending the night in a movie theatre or something,” he said thoughtfully. That’s what this is like.”

Was he implying that they were both just going to sleep in the living room, instead of Steve going off to the spare room, like he’d been doing…? That was what it sounded like. And it sure was all right with him, he decided.

So, they settled down to watch a couple more episodes of their show. It was kind of freaky—nothing like what they would have watched back in their day. Steve sure liked it, and from what he could tell… Bucky did too. It was strange, he couldn’t say what exactly the attraction of it _was._ It was dark, and slightly creepy… maybe that was it. Was it relatable? A possibility.

But some of the episodes were set in _their time,_ and they were very well-done, so… maybe that was part of it, too. Bucky certainly seemed fascinated. This wasn’t exactly the kind of show he would have been interested in way back when, he _thought,_ but what did he know? Maybe he would have loved it.

All too soon, Bucky was glancing over at the clock on the wall. “Damn, it’s late,” he said. “Should we get ready for bed?”

It was impossible for him to conceal a yawn. The clock read twelve-thirty—that _was_ late. “Yeah,” he decided. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

His bag was in the living room—he got up and went to grab it from where he’d left it on the floor. “You want the bathroom first?” He asked.

“I’m taking a shower,” he said with a shrug. “If you’re not, you can go ahead.”

He nodded. “Thanks. I’ll be quick.” He’d just change and brush his teeth—four minutes, at the most. He picked up his bag and headed over to the bathroom.

He was in the middle of getting dressed, when he hit a _small_ snag. He’d forgotten to pack a shirt. He went through his bag twice to confirm it, finally setting it down with a soft sigh of dismay. He couldn’t just go to bed _shirtless—_ he’d freeze. Sam kept his thermostat at something like fifty degrees.

So, he did the only thing there was left to do. He opened the door to go outside and find Bucky, to ask if he could borrow something, but he was… right there. He must have been waiting for his turn in the bathroom, or maybe walking by—anyway, he’d nearly hit him with the door.

“Uh… sorry,” he said.

Bucky’s face was unmistakably red, he wasn’t even looking him in the eye, was he… all right? Had he scared him that badly?

“Bucky?” He said softly, his voice nervous. “Sorry. Did I…?”

“No, I’m…” he broke off awkwardly. “Did you… need something?” Steve thought he looked oddly… hopeful. His imagination, obviously.

“Yeah.” He nodded, looking down at the ground. God, this was embarrassing. “I… forgot to pack a shirt. D’you have an extra, or a spare sweatshirt, or… something?”

Bucky hesitated so long he figured he was just going to tell him no, but finally, he said, “Yeah. Just… hang on a second.”

And then he was gone. Steve stared after him, his own face red.

Bucky kept his clothes in the closet in the spare room—it was the only place in the house where there was room to put them. He came back a moment later, clutching a shirt, which he handed off to Steve. “This should… this should fit you,” he said, looking just about as embarrassed as Steve felt.

“Thanks,” he managed, taking it from him and turning back around, catching a glimpse of Bucky doing the same before he was out of sight. He slipped the shirt over his head. It was one of Bucky’s, of course, light grey, made of soft material… comfortable.

He got his things together, grabbed his bag, and finally made his way out of the bathroom. Hopefully things wouldn’t be awkward between them, he thought. There was no reason for them to be—nothing weird had happened. He’d borrowed a shirt from Bucky. _They’d_ made it weird.

He brushed past him in the hall, on the way back to the living room. In the low light, it was easy to tell that his face was still bright red. _Why?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was the most fun ive had writing a chapter in a while :3 
> 
> more excitement to come, next week perhaps?  
> i'm on spring break then, so more than likely


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof.
> 
> who actually uses the HTML option in this thing tho. like, what kinda fuckery is that,,

It took Bucky a while to finish his shower. Steve was beginning to worry about him—had he made him nervous? He didn’t want this to be a big deal… but maybe _he_ was the only one making a big deal about it, after all. He’d settled down on the couch to wait for Bucky to get out of the shower.

It didn’t usually take him long—a habit they'd both learned during the war—and tonight was no exception. But Steve’s nerves stretched the time until seconds seemed like hours and Bucky could have been gone for a decade.

When he finally did reappear, he looked up at him hopefully. Maybe things had gone back to normal?

To be fair, he did look less timid than he had earlier. He gave Steve what seemed to be a casual once-over and smiled, shyly, as he went over to sit on the couch.

“Wanna come over here and join me?” he asked softly.

Wait, what did he mean by that? _Join him?_ But of course, Steve was taking what he’d said a little too seriously—he only wanted him to come and sit beside him. Obviously.

So, he got up from his chair and went to sit on the couch. It was easier to see the TV from here, anyway. “What are we gonna watch?” He asked.

“Could just find something?”

It wasn’t like he had any better ideas. He didn’t protest, instead, he reached over and handed him the remote from the arm of the couch. “No horror movies, though. It’s too late at night for that.”

“Deal.”

He’d seen plenty of ads and previews for various horror movies lately. And while he could tell they were for the most part designed to be kind of bad and not really all that scary, the special effects were all too realistic to his eyes. So, he’d rather not watch one at one in the morning—if at all—and he figured Bucky would prefer the same.

They ended up watching another science fiction movie, of course. It was of Bucky’s choosing, but Steve didn’t mind. It seemed to make him happy.

It was called _Contact,_ based on some book, according to the credits at the beginning. It was about aliens, as the little plot synopsis had promised. He figured that was why Bucky had chosen it in the first place. And hey, it wasn’t half bad. He’d really liked it and judging from the look on Bucky’s face when he looked over at him as the credits started, he had, too. They should watch movies together more often, he decided.

Bucky turned to look at him, then glanced over at the clock. “It’s almost three,” he said, a sheepish expression on his face. “Should get to bed…”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow.” He sighed. “Maybe we can do this again, though?”

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed with a tired smile.

Steve got up from the couch, stretching luxuriously. “I’m gonna head off to bed, I think…”

“Good night,” Bucky said, grinning.

“Good night.”

Sam had said he wanted to convert the spare room into a real guest room, if Bucky was going to stay longer, but he supposed that would be unnecessary now. In the meantime, he’d cleaned up a little, moved some things around, and installed a bed, although lately the only person to actually spend the night was Steve. Sam had offered it to Bucky multiple times, but he insisted that he was used to sleeping on the couch now, so it was all right if he stayed there.

It seemed as though he’d only just laid down when there was a noise that to his ears sounded as though it were a cry for help. It had come from the living room.

He sat up quickly, looking around as though he might see an intruder in the corner of the room. When there was none, he got up and went into the living room to see if Bucky was all right.

It occurred to him that the house was being watched—had they decided to make their attack tonight? Why, oh why hadn’t he thought to bring his shield with him…?

But there were no intruders, and certainly no HYDRA. Bucky was sitting up on the couch, his rough, heavy breathing audible from even across the room. He didn’t look up, even when Steve said his name.

“Bucky?” he called softly, looking over at him. He didn’t know if he should come any closer—what if he lashed out? Was he… dangerous?

He remembered how this had happened on the first night after he’d arrived, and how Bucky had passed out on them, just before that… was this like that?

He didn’t seem to have noticed him, still. He approached cautiously. “Buck…?” He said again, louder. _Oh, please, please let him wake up. Don’t make him go through something like this again… please…_

Bucky was looking right at him. “Stevie?” His voice was so soft that he might not have spoken at all. Steve thought he might have misheard him, but…

“Stevie…” his voice trembled a little. He raised one arm in a motion that looked as if he were asking for him to come and sit down.

He did, still carefully keeping his distance despite wanting to try and help. “Buck, what… what happened? Are you okay?”

He looked up at him, blinking a couple of times. “HYDRA…” he murmured, so softly that he could hardly hear him.

“Oh… Buck, I’m—I’m sorry,” he said, not quite sure _what_ he was supposed to say—he was _so_ new to this whole thing, and Sam was the one who was supposed to deal with this, and _he_ wasn’t good at it—but he was dealing with it.

Bucky shook his head, looking away. “I’m—it’s fine. It’s okay, Stevie.” His voice shook.

Steve looked over at him, at a loss for words for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said again, unsure what to say. Bucky seemed so… shaken. Trying to make him tell him what happened seemed like a terrible idea, and he sure didn’t know how to reassure him.

He looked up, meeting his eyes again. He slowly reached out with his good arm, the look in his eyes fragile and almost hopeful. It was almost the same gesture he’d made a moment ago.

They were close enough that Steve could reach out and put his arm around him. He gently pulled him closer, slipping his other arm around his waist. He was _shaking_ —as soon as he touched him, he seemed to be leaning on him for support, his hand clutching at the back of his shirt. “Steve…” he said, hardly more than a whisper. “I’m sorry…”

He didn’t know what he was apologizing for. “It’s okay, love. I’ve got you,” he murmured. Bucky was still shivering, and his breathing hitched every once in a while, but he nodded against Steve’s shoulder.

Finally, he seemed to calm down a little—the shivering stopped, his grip on his shirt slackened a little and he brought his other hand up to rest against his back. Steve reached up to run his fingers through his hair. It was still damp from his shower, and tangled.

When he looked up at him, his eyes were slightly watery.

Steve reached up to brush his hair away from his face. “You okay?” he asked.

He nodded. “I’m—fine.” His voice sounded constricted. “Do you—would you mind…” he stopped. “Never mind. I’m sorry.”

“What is it?” He asked softly. He’d be happy to do _anything_ for him right now.

“No, you’ll—you need your sleep, Stevie.” He shook his head.

“I’ll be okay.”

“I was going to ask…” he looked down, not meeting his eyes. “Can you stay here for the rest of the night? But you need to get some sleep, you have to work… you can’t stay here with me all night.”

There might have been a touch of bitterness in his voice. But that hardly mattered, Steve was already set on his answer. “’Course I’ll stay with you.”

“But we can’t both sleep on the couch. Neither of us is going to get any rest.”

He thought for a moment. Bucky had a point. Even with the serum, if he was going to be at work tomorrow he needed to be at least semi–rested and alert. He couldn’t just go all night with no sleep like that…

“What if we sleep in the guest room?” he asked. He felt almost weird about suggesting it. For one thing, he and Bucky sleeping in the same bed, well… that _was_ weird, who was he fooling? For another, it was something they’d used to do.

To his relief, Bucky nodded slowly. He didn’t seem to be thinking about it as deeply as Steve had been. That was… good, he decided. He didn’t want him to read too much into it and freak out.

“Okay… c’mon, then.” He disentangled himself from Bucky and stood up, holding out a hand for him.

He took it and stood unsteadily, clinging to his hand for a moment until he seemed to realize what he was doing and let go.

Something about that seemed almost… funny to Steve. They were two grown men about to share a bed—regardless of the reason, hell, they’d used to do this just about every night—and Bucky was getting nervous about touching his hand.

He led the way to the guest room, awkwardly going to sit on the bed as if he were unsure quite what to do once he reached that point.

Bucky didn’t seem to care, or maybe he was just tired. He went around the other side of the bed and laid down, pulling the covers over himself. He seemed… comfortable. He did the same, curling up on his own side of the bed and closing his eyes.

They both lay there in silence for a while. Bucky’s breathing was much too fast for him to be asleep, but he wasn’t saying anything. He stayed quiet, not wanting to disturb him.

There was a soft rustling noise, and he worried that he was getting up to go back to the couch, but instead he felt his hand rest tentatively against his arm. He moved a little, adjusting so that he could hold his hand. That wasn’t… too far, was it? He didn’t want to make him nervous.

But Bucky didn’t seem to mind. Actually, he intertwined their fingers together and gently squeezed his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> already working on the next chapter, should be out soon


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> supposed to be studying for my AP world history test rn lmao  
> this is a better use of my time tho

He must have fallen asleep sometime during the night, because the next time he opened his eyes, bright sunlight was shining through the window. He groaned softly, trying to hide his face, but he bumped into something. Or—someone.

He jumped in surprise, pulling back a little as he realized it had been Bucky. He was _really_ close—they must have moved during the night. They weren’t holding hands anymore. Instead, Bucky was curled up right beside him. He was still asleep, as far as he could tell, and he looked kind of peaceful—it was cute.

Slowly, carefully, so as not to wake him up, he reached over and put his arm around him. They’d used to sleep like this all the time: when he was sick, or when one of them had had a nightmare, if it was cold… a number of reasons.

Did Bucky remember that? Part of him hoped so.

Bucky rolled over slightly, clearly still asleep, and pressed himself closer to Steve’s chest. He looked down at him, surprised, and his surprise only grew as Bucky opened his eyes and looked back at him.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

Bucky blinked, as if getting used to the bright light, but he didn’t move away. “Morning.”

There was a moment’s silence, in which neither of them moved or spoke. Then, finally, Bucky said, “I’m sorry about last night. Didn’t wanna wake you up like that.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “It happens.”

Bucky nodded. “Did you get back to sleep okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I slept… fine.” He really had. He wondered if it had anything to do with Bucky, but… no. That was weird.

“Should get up soon,” Bucky mumbled, his face half-hidden against Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he agreed, but neither of them made any kind of move to get up.

“Stevie?” Bucky said after a moment, and his voice had a strange, almost tremulous quality to it.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for everything… I don’t think I ever thanked you for what you did for me, I mean… last night, or really since, well… I dunno how long it’s been.” He sighed.

“I never thanked you, either,” Steve admitted. “For everything you did for me back in the forties, or for when I called you the other day?”

Bucky looked up at him, his expression surprised. “Well, we’re… we’re friends, Stevie. It’s—it’s no big deal.” He smiled slightly, and Steve’s heart seemed to twist a little in his chest.

“Hey, the same goes for you, then.” He looked down at him—he seemed smaller than he remembered, but otherwise the same. That was hardly a surprise, after all, he _was_ the smaller one now. Actually, he was kind of cute… “I’ll do anything for you, love.”

Bucky blinked, and Steve nearly flinched, his mind instantly going into some kind of overdrive. _What the_ hell _had he just said?_ Bucky had just said that they were _friends—_ nothing more. And here he was, practically confessing his love for him—and there was a hell of a lot more to look into there. But for _right now,_ that wasn’t important. He’d _really_ fucked up this time, Bucky was going to freak out, what if he just _left…?_

But actually, he seemed pretty calm, although he looked a little worried. “Stevie?” He said softly, as though that wasn’t the first time he’d called his name. “You all right?”

He nodded, trying to force himself to calm down. “Yeah. Sorry. Just kinda… forgot what I was doing for a second.”

Bucky smiled sympathetically. “’S okay. Don’t worry about it. You want to go and get some breakfast or something?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, relieved, already moving to get up, but having difficulty disentangling himself from Bucky.

“Sorry.” He moved so that they could both get up, and Steve thought—imagined—that he could see the smallest trace of a blush on his face.

He felt the strangest combination of relieved and disappointed when Bucky moved away, but he tried to focus on something else. It wasn’t much use.

Sam was already in the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of the two of them coming from the spare bedroom, but thankfully he didn’t say anything about it—Steve wouldn’t have know what to do if he had. “Morning.”

They both mumbled somewhat awkward greetings, unsure what to do with themselves.

Sam looked between them, as if noticing how awkward they looked. He seemed to debate asking what was going on, but thankfully decided against it. “You guys want breakfast before I have to leave for work?” he asked.

He was going to have to leave soon, too, Steve realized. Bucky was going to be alone in the house, which was dangerous on… several fronts. But he’d be okay for a few hours, and besides, he could call and check on him if he _really_ needed to. And his cell number was probably saved to the home phone, so Bucky could call him, too. He didn’t have to worry. _Did he?_

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky nodded. “I mean—don’t you have to leave real soon, though?”

“It’s fine, I’ll just make eggs and bacon or something, we can have toast?” He wasn’t even dressed yet, and if Steve could recall, he’d have to leave in twenty minutes.

“We can do that,” he said quickly, even knowing that he was going to regret it. This was going to be _so awkward_ when Sam left, but he could hardly take it back now.

“Oh, thanks!” Sam grinned. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, then. Don’t set anything on fire.”

And then he was gone, leaving Steve and Bucky alone again. It was just as awkward as he’d anticipated, and Steve had no one to blame but himself.

Bucky turned around to go and get the ingredients they’d need from the fridge. He went to help, consciously trying not to trip or bump into anything. They at least managed to make breakfast without burning anything, which was a real achievement on his part.

It didn’t take too long, either, which meant that breakfast was done before Sam got back and since neither of them wanted to eat without him, they had to wait.

“You’re… leaving for work, too, right?” Bucky asked, breaking the silence.

_Oh, shit._ Yeah. And why was he asking…? Did he just want him gone, was he looking forward to being left alone…? Fair enough. He nodded. “Yeah. Gonna have to get ready to go pretty soon,” he said with a little shrug.

“Oh.” He glanced over at him, looking a little nervous, suddenly. “Are you… I mean—you forgot to bring a shirt, didn’t you? If you’re getting ready here…”

He’d forgotten about that. “Yeah, actually. Can I borrow one from you, I mean, I know I already—but, I mean, if you don’t mind?” He stammered. He could feel an uncomfortably warm blush creeping up the back of his neck. “Sorry. I’ll remember next time.”

Bucky smiled, looking just about as embarrassed as he felt. “Yeah. ‘Course you can, don’t worry about it.”

They both looked up abruptly as Sam came back into the room, pulling on a jacket.

“Breakfast is ready,” Bucky said hastily, as if to keep things from getting more awkward, but he only seemed to make it worse.

“Thanks, guys,” Sam said, flashing a genuine smile.

They all hurried over to sit down at the table, as if that would make things seem a little less weird. The food was good, though—they could say that, at least. Steve was _really_ hungry, suddenly, and from the looks of it the others were as well. Nobody said much as they ate, which was probably for the best. Steve was just going to make the whole situation worse, if nobody else did. Even Sam couldn’t diffuse whatever was happening between him and Bucky, and he didn’t seem to want to bother trying, as if he thought they could work it out for themselves. _As if._

“I gotta get to work,” Sam said hurriedly, getting up and going to put his plate in the sink. And yeah, he was already late.

Bucky made a noncommittal sort of noise, and Steve said, “Yeah, see you later.” He was going to have to get ready to leave, too. He was supposed to check in at work in… half an hour. Plus, he had to take the long way through the back window to get to his car. Just enough time, he decided.

“I should get going, too,” he said, double-checking the time. “Gotta get to work pretty soon.”

They were both finished with their food, so if they didn’t get up and do _something,_ it was going to be awkward as hell, he decided. Might as well get ready to go. And Bucky was already getting up. “I can get you some clean clothes,” he was saying, a little red in the face. “Or, a shirt, anyway. D’you need anything else?”

“Just—just a shirt.” He was blushing, too. He could _feel_ it. He got up from the table and went to put their empty plates in the sink with Sam’s. “Thanks,” he added, but Bucky was already gone.

He waited awkwardly in the hall for Bucky to retrieve an extra shirt for him, taking the opportunity to take a couple of deep breaths and just _try to calm down._ It was all right, he told himself—he didn’t need to freak out over Bucky. He’d said _one thing_ that he _might_ have taken the wrong way. That was all, no need to worry. And, well, they’d shared a bed, too. If he felt weird about that then he wouldn’t be surprised. He sighed, leaning back against the wall.

He was about to take out his phone, just for something to do, when Bucky came out of the spare room and quickly handed him a clean shirt. This one seemed pretty similar to the one he’d borrowed the night before, he noticed.

“Thanks, Buck,” he mumbled, going into the spare bedroom to get dressed for work.

He was going to have to leave in a few minutes… Bucky was going to be on his own for the rest of the day. They were probably still being watched. Would he be okay for the rest of the day, until Sam came home? Natasha wasn’t coming back for a while—she was working, still. And Clint wasn’t coming either, but Steve didn’t know where he was supposed to be. He wouldn’t be back here for nearly a week, he realized. Until then, Sam and Bucky would be on their own.

But that was okay, right? Sam was capable and resourceful, and Bucky was, too, even without the serum. They could protect themselves. They’d be okay, he promised himself. They didn’t need him to defend them.

He had to get ready in kind of a hurry, which was difficult because he couldn’t even begin to _concentrate_ on what he was doing. But he managed. He got his stuff together and went to find Bucky, because crawling out the back window without even telling him seemed… rude.

Bucky was in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and staring at the wall with a blank, unreadable expression on his face. Steve had to call his name a couple of times before he even looked at him.

“Sorry, Steve. Got a little distracted.”

He couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about. It probably had a lot to do with their… exchange, earlier. He couldn’t really get that out of his head, either. It was kind of embarrassing, and with how Bucky had been acting towards him ever since—he swallowed, looking down at the ground as he tried to collect his thoughts.

“Yeah. I… I gotta get going. I’m gonna be late.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He set his coffee down and made to walk back through the house.

Steve followed him, after a moment’s deliberation. Bucky opened the window for him and he paused for a moment before climbing out. “You’re gonna be okay by yourself, right? I mean, if somebody breaks in…?” Mostly, he just wanted the reassurance—but he’d stay, if he needed to.

Bucky nodded. “I’ll be fine, Steve. I promise.”

“And you can call me if you need anything?”

“I’m not a little kid,” he said with a faint hint of annoyance in his voice. “But yes, I have your phone number. And Sam’s. And Clint’s and Natasha’s. I’ll call you if something happens.”

“Okay.” He smiled shyly, and then, just like that, he climbed out the window and he was on his way to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got a couple more chapters written over the break! i'll post them over the next week or two when i have time.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, this one's short but
> 
> angst

As soon as Steve was gone, Bucky let out a breath that was equal parts relief and just trying to calm his lasting nerves down.

His whole morning—and that night—had been so… weird.

Of course, the nightmares were nothing new, he’d been having those for… decades. This one was nothing special. It had been almost a relief to look up and see Steve there, coming to check on him. Of course, Sam came to do that, sometimes, and if anything he was more helpful. But he was a heavy sleeper and a lot of the time he didn’t even hear.

And then… they’d gone and spent the night together. _In the same bed._ He remembered doing that before, of course. And there had been that one night when they’d fallen asleep together on the couch. That had felt normal, nice, even. But this was different. He’d been nervous, which had less to do with the nightmare and more to do with spending so much time so close to Steve. And, well, holding hands. He couldn’t begin to guess what had changed, since the last hundred times they’d done it, because he could never remember being nervous then.

He couldn’t get what Steve had said to him out of his head, either— _“I’d do anything for you, love.”_ What kind of man says that to his _friend?_ Why would he call him that? God, it felt like he was mocking him—and it wasn’t the first time he’d done it, either, because he’d said it the night before, too… It had made him feel so wonderful, and even though Steve had acted so weird about it afterwards, his heart seemed to flutter every time he thought about it.

Was that… bad? Was he a creep for thinking of it that way? Could he help it, really, or was saying that he couldn’t help himself thinking of Steve the way he did, sometimes, was that just another way of refusing to take responsibility for his actions? And furthermore, _why_ was he thinking this way? Was there something wrong with him?

He closed the window and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. This whole morning had been so stiff and awkward. He didn’t think he’d be able to face Steve again any time soon, not after he’d left like that.

Maybe Sam would know what to do? He wasn’t sure he could help, not with this particular dilemma.

But it wouldn’t hurt to ask, right? He was going to leave soon, anyway. Who cared if things got a little bit weirder, he decided. And maybe he’d get lucky, get some real good advice or something…

He was going to miss Sam. Even if he was kind of an asshole, sometimes.

It was nice talking to him, about serious stuff and even just fooling around the way they did. He hadn’t had a friend like that in so, so long.

And even if he didn’t feel quite the same way about him as he did about Steve, he was sure going to miss seeing him.

And speaking of, he _still_ didn’t have a solid plan for what he was going to do, sometime down the road when he had to leave. Sam wanted him gone, and that was okay. He was pretty much just a houseguest, after all, and he’d well overstayed his welcome.

So, then, what was he going to do? He’d said he would turn himself in but he hated Steve’s reaction to that idea, so maybe… maybe he shouldn’t do that. He could just disappear, like he’d wanted to do in the beginning. That was another appealing idea. Riskier, but it wouldn’t hurt Steve as badly.

But that would _really_ erase all his chances of ever seeing Steve—or Sam, or Clint, or probably Natasha—ever again. He didn’t know if he could stomach that.

Now would be a really excellent time to go for a walk, he reflected. He could go for a drink—easy enough to just sneak out and buy one, like last time. No one else was even home. But in broad daylight—he wasn’t brave enough.

And after that had ended, last time? He’d rather stay here, where it was safe. He could think on all this stuff later. He had all the time in the world, after all.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, look at me, back to posting on a regular schedule!

By the time Sam came home from work, Bucky had strengthened his resolve to at least _try_ and ask him about Steve. He wasn’t going to let himself duck out of this now—he needed some damn _answers,_ and if there was even a chance he’d get them from Sam then it was more than worth the trouble of asking.

Hell, he might even know something more specific, about why Steve was acting the way he was. That could help, too.

He was on the couch, reading another book Sam had picked up for him from the library, when he heard the front door open. He looked up hastily, his heart suddenly pounding in his throat. He was here—did he ask him now or wait until later? Did it matter? But he didn’t want to seem desperate for help or anything. _Did he?_

“Hey,” he said as casually as he could, looking up as Sam dropped his jacket on a dining room chair.

Sam nodded a greeting. “You doing okay?” he asked.

He nodded. “Yeah. Why?” He was used to him being blunt like that, but he couldn’t figure out why he’d be worried about him _right now._

He stood awkwardly in the doorway to the hall, as if he wasn’t sure yet whether he wanted to have this conversation in the first place. What was this about? “Well… I mean, the house is still surrounded by weird guys who are probably watching us. Might be kinda nervous about that?” He shrugged. “But you and Steve seemed kinda tense this morning. Are you guys okay…?”

Bucky put his book down, looking around for a moment as if he were making sure nobody else could listen in. “Yeah. I wanted to ask you about that, actually.”

Sam came and sat down in one of the chairs, which happened to be the same one Steve had been occupying the night before. “Ask away.” 

Bucky nodded, unsure where to start. He thought for a moment. “I’m kind of worried about him,” he admitted.

“Why’s that?”

 “Well, I mean… I had a nightmare last night.” He looked up to see what kind of reaction he was going to get from Sam, but he didn’t seem _overly_ concerned. He was just listening. “So Steve came to check on me, and we shared a bed, last night.”

Sam was nodding, as if that suddenly made a lot of sense to him.

“I mean, we went right to sleep, pretty much, nothing weird happened, and we’ve done that before, so it’s nothing new.” He shrugged. He’d leave out the part about how they’d held hands.

“So… what happened then?” He asked. He had a look on his face that told Bucky that he was concentrating really hard on something.

“Well… nothing much, until this morning.” He felt his face suddenly go red. “I… I apologized for waking him up, and then we ended up talking, I thanked him for, I guess for getting me away from HYDRA, and he… he said…” his face went even redder. Sam was watching him now, with perhaps more than could be seen as strictly scientific curiosity, which made it all worse. “He said, ‘I’d do anything for you, love.’”

He was sort of regretting telling him this, now. What was Sam possibly going to do with this information? All he was going to get out of this was embarrassing himself _and_ Steve.

“Is that why you’re uncomfortable?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of—of course not!” The abruptness of his response even startled _him_. He and Steve used to say things like that all the time, anyway— _“I’m with you ‘till the end of the line.”_ So… what _was_ the issue? “After that, he seemed—he seemed sort of… withdrawn.”

“So, you’re saying it’s him that started this whole thing?”

He nodded. It was childish, kind of, but… yeah. “It wasn’t anything unusual, I mean… the circumstances were weird, I guess, ‘cause of my nightmare and all that, but we weren’t actually acting all that out of the ordinary… y’know?”

Sam nodded, slowly. Bucky thought that meant he understood. “You’re worried that something happened between you two?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “And… I don’t know how fix it and I don’t even know if it’s really happening, maybe he’s mad at me—”

“I don’t think he’s angry with you.” He was quiet for a moment.

“So if he’s _not_ angry, then what?” He asked.

He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s stressed out about everything that’s been happening lately. He could be worried about you. He’s never been good at talking about stuff like that.”

Bucky thought back to when he’d called him the other day. That sounded about right, he decided. “So… what do I do about it?” He asked softly. “I can’t—I can’t lose him again, over something as stupid as this. I want to make sure it turns out okay.”

Sam was watching him with what looked like _concern_ —which was, honestly, a little embarrassing. He hadn’t meant to tell him this much, but it looked like he was going to try and help him, so he wasn’t about to give up now. “You can talk to him about it. Ask him what happened? I can’t step in and help you, you gotta take care of this on your own, but… I know it means a lot to you so I’ll try and help if I can.”

He took a moment to take in everything he’d said. “Okay, but… I don’t know if I’ll be _able_ to talk about it. I mean, with him.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Nervous?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

It was so, _so_ tempting just to tell him everything, because he was right there and he wasn’t going to tell Steve unless he wanted him to. But he couldn’t… right? If he was just about to leave, why bother? He couldn’t just spill his guts to _Sam_ and then disappear.

“Any particular reason why?”

“Something else has… changed, lately,” he admitted slowly. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s Steve, he’s different—I mean, not in a ‘he’s–adjusted–to–the–twenty–first–century’ kind of way, I mean he’s _different.”_

“Different how?”

“Well, he’s… he treats me different than he used to. And… I guess that’s not weird, after… everything.” He sighed. “But he’s so sweet and he’s just… I dunno why that makes me nervous about talking to him.”

Sam looked _amused_ now—as if he were really, genuinely trying not to smile. “Do you… _like_ him?”

“Huh?”

“Are you into him?”

A wave of heat rushed through his entire body. His face went red and he looked away hurriedly, because Sam was _grinning,_ looking all satisfied and fucking _triumphant._ He wanted to sink into the floor and disappear, because he was _right._ That was exactly the problem. Just… put into words much more concisely than he could have managed on his own. It was fucking embarrassing that he needed someone else to point  _that_ out for him.

It dawned on him, suddenly, and his eyes snapped back to Sam, all wide and kind of fearful. “You’re not… mad at me or anything, right?”

Sam’s expression shifted quickly from amusement to surprise, then worry and finally understanding. “’Course not,” he said with a small, sort of sympathetic smile. “Some of my best friends aren’t straight, either, y'know.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the ground, as if that would help him gather his thoughts. Part of him wondered if it was anyone he knew. Maybe Steve? “So it’s… It’s not—is it different than it used to be, I mean, how they treat people like me?”

He grinned. “Things are a lot different than they used to be. It's safer now.”

He looked a little skeptical. “You _sure?”_

Sam nodded. “I know it’s hard to believe. Things still aren’t perfect, but it’s… it’s not illegal. You can marry a man,” he offered.

Bucky’s eyes lit up as an image sprung unbidden into his mind of himself proposing to Steve—what would he say? Well… he knew Steve wasn’t going to say _yes,_ but it was still wonderful to think about. He smiled softly, a blush creeping up the back of his neck. The way Sam was looking at him—as smugly as if he’d just cracked an enigma—was only making it worse.

“Are you going to tell him?” Sam asked, grinning.

He looked up at him, swallowing hard. _Telling him_ wasn’t something he’d even considered—talking to Sam about it had been bad enough, and that had just _happened_. But planning it? Actually _talking_ to Steve, coming out to him, telling him that he loved him? That was a bit much.

“I’d love to,” he murmured. Even if he didn’t feel the same way, hey, at least he’d know. That was better than lying. Their friendship was already at a low point, anyway.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, another chapter, so soon?!?
> 
> Yes, I'm aiming to finish it in time for Pride Month.

Bucky only got more nervous and uncertain as the next week progressed. Steve came over several more times, and every time he felt as if he wasn’t quite ready to talk to him. In the rare moments when he did, it didn’t ever seem like he was alone with him.

Clint and Natasha came over, too, but only once. The pair of them dropped in for the day, while Nat was off work and Clint wasn’t too busy.  They ordered lunch and tried to make conversation, but it was obvious that they didn't know each other well enough .

It was still a normal enough afternoon. Sam wasn’t around and, to his disappointment, neither was Steve. The three of them sat around the kitchen table together, making awkward small talk as they finished eating. For lack of better things to talk about, the conversation gravitated towards Bucky.  He didn't want to talk about the manhunt, but by the time the conversation started heading in that direction, it was too late to stop it .

“They’re still clueless,” Natasha was saying. “They think Sam’s too innocent to try and help you. They  _are_ worried  about Steve, though. So… they’re half-right.” She grinned, taking another sip of her Sprite.

“Anything about the guys watching the house?” Bucky asked, with an almost subconscious glance towards the windows.

“No.” Clint shook his head. “Nothing.”

"I’m starting to think you guys are  just  panicking over nothing.  Maybe  it’s  just  a utility project,” Natasha said with a little shrug.

“Hope so,” Bucky said  dully , his eyes still on the windows at the front of the house.

He wasn’t even sure he had anything to be nervous about anymore, aside from talking to Steve. Being locked up like this did things to a guy—he knew that. He was paranoid, and Sam was overcautious, and Steve was… Steve. There might not be anything to worry about after all. It was nice of Clint and Natasha to come over and spend a whole day here with him. They were sweet—even if they were a little weird. They made all this feel almost normal, like having casual friends again. It might have been awkward, yeah, but it felt like a start.

He was so wrapped up in that thought, for a moment, that he was completely unprepared for the knock at the door.

They looked around at each other for a moment, unsure what to do. Sam wouldn’t knock, and Steve wouldn’t come through the front door anymore. Who else could it be? The damn Girl Scouts? It didn't matter—they couldn’t answer the door, anyway.  Natasha and Clint were too recognizable, and if someone saw them, the news that they were at Sam’s place would travel fast . That seemed insignificant, but it could link them to Sam and Bucky, so… best to stay put. And Bucky, he went without saying. He needed to stay silent and out of sight, for his own safety as much as everyone else’s.

The knocking crescendoed into pounding. Bucky cringed a little at the noise. Whoever it was, they weren't going away any time soon.

“I’m gonna go and answer it,” Natasha said, putting her drink down and standing up.

“Tasha,” Clint said, his face drawn and anxious. “Stay here, please. We need to figure out who it is first.”

“And how do you think we’re going to do that?” She asked, her tone clipped. Even Bucky already knew from experience that there was no arguing with her when she spoke that way.

“Fine.” He stood up, too. Bucky stayed where he was, looking from one to the other as if asking what they wanted him to do.

“Bucky,  just … wait here, until we figure out who it is.”

He nodded, watching as Natasha’s hand closed around something in her jacket pocket. That didn’t exactly make him feel better.

He sat at the table and watched as they both disappeared around a corner, going to answer the door. Whoever was on the other side was pounding so  loudly  now that he could hardly hear anything else. When someone opened the door and it finally stopped, his ears still rang with the noise.

He struggled to listen for what was happening on the other side of the house. Even with his super–enhanced hearing, it was difficult to make anything out. Still, there was at least one deep, male voice that wasn’t Clint's on the other side of the door.

He swallowed, hard, considering getting up to go and see, but he didn’t want to fuck it up if it wasn’t already bad.

After what seemed like hours of sitting there, waiting for something to happen or for someone to come back around the corner, Clint finally appeared .

His face  was red  and his eyebrows  were drawn  together in a worried sort of grimace. “Bucky. I… come with me,” he said, hardly above a whisper.

“What’s happening?” He asked, getting up from the table and scrambling to follow him to the door.

His heart dropped into his stomach as he surveyed the sight before him. Natasha was still standing there, surrounded by three people in dark suits. One of them was holding a knife, which he recognized as Natasha’s. He was examining it as it lay in the palm of his hand.

“Barnes,” said a fourth man.

Bucky felt a sudden, surprising flash of irritation. Shouldn’t they be calling him _Sergeant_ Barnes?

“Yes,” he said.

“Come with us. It took us a while to figure out where you’ve been hiding, and now that we have you, we aren't letting you go.”

He wasn’t planning on making a run for it. This was what he’d wanted, after all. He'd be gone, and Sam and Steve wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. “What about them?” He nodded towards Clint and Natasha.

“Them, too. Now, I don’t want to hear another word out of any of you until I say.”

He nodded  mutely  . He could hear Natasha make a small noise of irritation from beside him, but neither she nor Clint said a word.  Someone snapped handcuffs onto his wrists and began herding him out into the street, and he could hear the others behind him, but he couldn't see a thing . It was difficult to tell what was going on already, without trying to keep an eye on his friends, too.

Someone shoved him into the back of a truck. It occurred to him that it could be the same one that he'd seen sitting outside the house for weeks. He didn’t do so much as protest, though. It wasn’t worth the risk. If he made it out, where would he go? He’d exhausted his only option for escape. Steve and Sam couldn’t save him another time, hell… someone might already be after them, too. Natasha would be unwilling to try and run, and if she was, Clint would be, too.

So there he sat, his eyes closed and his back pressed up against the wall. Clint and Natasha weren’t with him.  He thought separating the three of them hadn’t been a terrible idea, because without them he had little hope of finding his way out of here . He was unwilling to leave them behind, too, he realized.

The truck started up, but it was a long time before it started to move. It was dark, and quiet aside from the voices he heard outside. He considered what he was going to do when he got to wherever these people were taking him.

It was unlikely that they were HYDRA. They couldn’t be S.H.I.E.L.D., either, though. That was a comforting thought. Still, it meant that he was, if anything, going back under Fury’s care.  But then again,  perhaps  not, because Natasha and Clint worked for him, so now they had to know that hiding him had been an inside job  . Would anyone trust that department with keeping him safe this time? He didn’t know where he was going. He  was lost .

He hoped they’d give him his one phone call. Did this count as an arrest? If they were kind enough to do him that favor, he’d talk to Sam, he decided. He needed to apologize for all this. And he could give him a message for Steve, too, in case the two of them saw each other any time soon.

He’d lost track of the time.  He might have have fallen asleep, if not for the discomfort of sitting in the back of the truck for so long with the handcuffs on .

Even if he _had_ fallen asleep, he wouldn’t have gotten to enjoy it for very long. The door at the back of the compartment swung open, and the sunlight that flooded inside was blinding. He closed his eyes, disoriented further as someone grabbed him and roughly pulled him to his feet. They forced him out of the truck and he landed on hard ground, blinking as he tried again to adjust to the light.

“This way, Barnes,” said a loud, rough voice next to his ear.

He followed the man  blindly  on shaky legs. His wrists were still cuffed, but they could have done a better job of restraining him. He could escape, if only he knew where he was or what was happening or where his friends were.

He only became more confused as the man, who had to be a guard or someone from HYDRA, led him through the building. The place was like a labyrinth, with innumerable floors and rooms that he couldn’t identify. If Steve came to rescue him this time, he wouldn’t even be able to find him, he thought  dully .

At least no one had tried to do him any serious harm yet. Experimentation had always been HYDRA’s first priority, and his arm was a great example. But so far, at least, these people only seemed interested in keeping him under control. Nothing else. It was a relief, but it seemed almost too good to be true.  That was  perhaps  why he was still expecting someone to lead him into a doctor’s office, or a good old-fashioned exam room .

He felt dizzy and sick. He was still a little shaky, which he supposed wasn’t out of the ordinary for something like this. Still, the feeling only intensified as the guard led him into a cell block.

The room was several stories below ground, by his judgement, although he couldn’t say exactly how many, because he hadn’t seen a sign and they hadn’t taken an elevator here  . It was small, smaller than he  was used  to, and as far as he could tell it was empty. He couldn't even see Clint or Natasha.

The cells were different from the ones at HYDRA, too, he observed as the guard removed his handcuffs and shoved him into one . The glass door slid shut behind him and the guard watched as he sat down hard on his cot. He felt as though he’d be unable to stand up for a moment longer.

“Someone’s coming back for you in a little bit,” he said  gruffly , turning to leave. “Lots of people want to talk to you.”

He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes as the guard started to walk away. He was glad that the rest of the block was empty, because the glass door offered no privacy at all.

He still didn’t know what he was going to do—his plan for his phone call didn’t seem as though it was going to work out, after all. He still didn’t know where Clint and Natasha were, and he knew even less about what had happened to Sam.

There might have been a little hope left for Steve, but would he try to save him this time? He seemed different, over the last couple of times they’d seen each other. He’d been colder, and more distant.  He wasn’t sure if this new development was his fault or not, but at any rate it wasn’t guaranteed anymore that Steve was coming to save him .

He laid back on his cot, his eyes open as he looked up at the ceiling. His whole stay with Sam had been for nothing, he thought. It had been so short, but so sweet, and so  utterly  pointless because here he was, right back where he’d started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this one in hemingwayapp.com I dunno if anyone else might want to give it a try?  
> It took a while, but I think it helped a little. There's a hell of a lot less adverbs, anyway. :3


	28. Chapter 28

Steve had planned to go over and check on Sam and Bucky later, after Clint and Natasha left. He wasn’t supposed to be back for another couple of days, but he wanted to make sure they were doing all right.

He called first—Sam’s cell phone, and not the landline. He didn’t know if he was actually home, and he didn’t want to disturb Bucky.

Sam picked up before the phone even rang once. “Steve. You doing all right?”

“Um… yeah?” Bewilderment edged into his voice. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Okay… good. I was  just  about to call you.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” The bewilderment had turned into something bordering on panic. He recalled the last time they'd had a conversation like this, when Bucky had disappeared. They'd been lucky to get him back at all—what if he was gone for good this time?

“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “Don’t go anywhere near my house, all right? I’m coming over to your place.”

“Sam—Sam, what’s going on? Is Bucky okay?”

“He’s—gone, Steve.  He and Clint and Natasha disappeared while I was at work, and I don’t know where they are but the guys who’ve been hanging around in front of the house are gone, too, and I don’t know who took them but  I think  somebody tracked us down, Steve—”

“Sam, Sam, it’s okay. We’ll find them.” Steve’s heart pounded in his ears, but he tried to ignore it while he took a couple of deep breaths to calm down. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m driving over to your apartment. I  just  got home a few minutes ago.”

“How much longer until you get here?”

“Few minutes.”

He worried, for a moment, that someone had followed Sam and that he was leading them right to his apartment. But who cared? If they hauled him off, too, then at least he’d be wherever Bucky was.

That was… dark.

“See you then?”

“Yeah. See you then.” He hung up before Steve could say anything else.

He flopped back onto the couch, his phone dropping out of his hand onto the floor. He made no effort to reach down and pick it up.

More than anything, he wanted to talk to Bucky right now. But that was impossible, hell, he didn't know if he'd have wanted to talk to him under normal circumstances. he sighed, reaching up with one hand to rub his eyes. It was his fault that he and Bucky were on bad terms. Now they might never see each other again and he’d never be able to apologize for what he’d said. He’d meant it so  wholeheartedly  at the time, and he still wouldn’t take it back.ld do anything for Bucky.

He’d thought about that a lot since then. He hadn’t even been sure what he’d meant by it at first. It had been true, yes. It had never not been true, as far as he could remember, because he and Bucky had known each other for so, so long.

It was figuring out what it all meant that posed the problem. And hell, he still wasn’t sure about that part—because they were friends, weren’t they?  Bucky had been his best friend since they were little kids, that was true enough, but it wasn't anything more than that .

But Bucky didn’t feel like  just  a friend anymore. He was starting to feel like something else , something more than a friend. It made Steve feel like a predator for thinking about him that way. He  was ashamed  , he’d started to realize. And who knew when it had started—but as far back as he could remember, in this century, at least, he’d always felt that way.  Whenever he even looked at Bucky these days, he blushed like a fool and he got so distracted by the butterflies in his stomach that he could hardly string a sentence together . That made everything so much worse because it made him feel guilty. He couldn’t have feelings like that for a man, and especially not for Bucky. He knew him and if anyone would know for certain that he wasn’t gay it would be Steve. He’d seen him go out with so many girls over the years. Once they moved in together he’d seen him bring them home—how hadn’t he noticed how jealous he’d been? Hell, even their double dates had always been kind of awful.

A knock at the door interrupted him from his thoughts. Sam? He picked his phone up from the floor and sat up, stretching a little. He got up more and went to answer the door.

It was Sam, to his relief. He looked calmer than he would have expected, for how their phone conversation had gone. Steve figured he'd had a little time to relax on the drive over. In hindsight, that was something Steve should have tried to do, too. It might have done him a little more good than daydreaming about Bucky.

He stepped aside to let him in, pulling the door shut behind them. “Do you think anyone’s coming after you?” He asked  softly , as if someone might overhear.

Sam nodded. “It was my house, Steve. I’m surprised they weren’t waiting for me when I got there.”

“So why are you coming here?” If anything, he was  just  as suspect.

“You’re the last person left,” he said. “And I don’t know if anyone’s gonna think of you right away. I mean… you and Bucky are friends, and you work with the rest of us, but I don’t know if they can prove anything.”

That made enough sense. He turned to head into the kitchen. “You want coffee or something?”

“Tea sounds good. If you’ve got any?”

He had some—Natasha liked it, so he kept a box for when she came over. He went to make a cup. He didn’t like it much himself. He preferred coffee, something he hadn’t been able to buy on the regular until recently. So he started up the coffee maker, anyway.

“You got any idea where everybody is?” He asked, because that seemed like as good a place as any to start talking.

Sam shook his head. “They’re  just … gone. Haven’t got a clue.”

That was reassuring. “Could be Natasha’s team. We know they were already looking,” he pointed out.

“Don’t know of anybody else who was… sure is a shame she was there when they went in.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah. I know. And  honestly  , I can’t think of anyone else who would have been after him. Fury had him before, and then after he escaped… I guess he would have been  doubly  determined to get him back.”

Stuff like that didn’t happen often on Fury’s watch.

“This is gonna be weird,” Sam sighed.

“Yeah. I mean… he’s our boss.” Steve leaned back against the counter.

“That’s not even half of it,” Sam agreed. “I don’t know if we can even do this on our own, Steve.”

The microwave went off and he went to get the mug of hot water out, dropping a tea bag into it and handing it over to Sam. “I don’t know, either,” he admitted, looking away. He wasn’t sure if they had any other options, but he couldn’t give up now. “I  just —I can’t let Bucky go, Sam. We have to get him back or try and help him or something,” he pleaded, hating the desperate edge in his voice.

“Steve.” Sam fiddled with the tea bag in the mug he’d given him. “We’ll find someone to help us. We can call somebody…” He was silent for a  painfully  long time, but to be fair, Steve didn’t have any ideas, either. “Can call Hill, she might have a little compassion for us.”

“Why? She’s been working with Fury this whole time.”

“Okay. Okay. Tony?”

Steve looked up at him in disbelief. “Sam, Tony is the least likely person in the world to help us, if we can even get a hold of him.”

“Do you have a better idea, Steve?”

He looked away, shaking his head. “No.” Anything would be better than having to deal with Tony, but Sam made a pretty good point. They didn’t know if they could trust anyone right now, so why not go for broke? Besides, he doubted that Tony had  been involved  in the manhunt. That was something—it might not be too hard to get him on their side.

“Well, we’ve gotta try.” He didn’t sound too optimistic.

“You want to try and call him, or should I?” He asked.

“He likes me better,” Sam said with a little grin. “I can do it.”

That was all right with Steve.  He didn’t mind talking to him, but he got the feeling it would be hard to make him take this  seriously  , and Steve wasn’t the man for that job . Sam could stay calm and explain everything without making things worse. He trusted him to do that.

Sam pulled his phone out and started looking for Tony’s contact. Knowing him, he’d given him some weird-ass name and now he couldn’t remember what it was. He waited while he dialed the number, and they both watched  anxiously  as it rang.

After the fifth ring or so, it dropped the call. Steve’s heart plummeted into his stomach. Sam  frantically  tapped at the screen, trying to call again.

This time, to their great relief, he picked up. Sam put the phone on speaker, and Tony’s voice rang through the kitchen, “Stark  residence , how can I help you?”

Admittedly , they hadn’t planned this far.

“Hey, Tony. It’s me. And Steve. We’ve got a little bit of a… situation on our hands.”

There were the sounds of someone moving around on the other end of the line.  Steve suspected Tony was making himself comfortable, getting ready to listen to their sob story. “Yeah. That’s not unusual. Anyway, what’s goin’ on?”

Sam let out a long, slow breath. “So, you know about what’s been happening with Bucky, right? The manhunt, all that?”

“Yeah. They’ve been keeping me updated. You looking for him, too?”

Steve looked down at the phone, staring as  intently  as if he expected to see Tony materialize right out of the screen .

“Yeah,” Sam was saying. “He went missing this morning. We were—Steve and I—we were helping him hide and he’s gone. We need to find him.”

“Aw, relax,” Tony said, in an  annoyingly  superior kind of way. “Agent Smith’s safe and sound. Hill called me this afternoon. Said they caught Natasha and Clint, too.”

Steve and Sam looked at each other. Why did he know so much? Then again, it was Tony. One of his jobs was to know about this shit. They should be glad to not have to explain everything all over again.

“Right. Do you know where they are?”

“With Fury. Who else do you think would want him back?”

Fair point, actually. He sighed, trying to stay calm. This was already more progress than he ever thought he’d make. Hell, he worked for Fury. This was going to be easy, he thought, with a sudden rush of relief. Take Sam and Tony in there and… then what?

“Listen,” Sam was saying, “Can you try and help us figure out what to do?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Tony seemed to be thinking. “Fine. You guys want to meet up somewhere?  Maybe  come over here?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but that was a better deal than he’d thought he’d get. Besides, if somebody came after him or Sam, they’d be better protected at Stark Tower than they were here. “Fine. We’ll come over.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now I gotta edit my OneNote book a little. didn't think i'd have to plan this far, to be honest. 
> 
> also,, 50,000+ words now holy shit that's a lot


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy new chapter

The guards had separated Natasha from the others. Clint, she was confident would be all right. He handled this sort of thing all the time, albeit rarely from the prisoner’s perspective. Still, he could handle himself. He knew by heart every single one of the techniques that these people might try to use against him. He could keep them on their toes, she thought with something bordering on amusement.

Bucky was a different story. He was still something of an unknown quantity to her. She knew who he was, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Right now, she knew more than anyone about his days as the Winter Soldier,  maybe  more than even Bucky himself. He’d trained her in the Red Room, and every time she saw his left arm with that damn red star it reminded her all over again. What she remembered from back then was reason enough to believe that he could take care of himself. But that had been combat, not this.

There was little she could do about that now, though, as one of their Men in Black—security guards, she figured—led her away from the others .

He turned right, down a hall, and she glanced over her shoulder and watched Clint recede out of her view. Bucky had disappeared a few minutes ago. There was no telling what they’d done with him.

At least she knew where they were—this was one of Fury’s buildings. Maria Hill’s main office was here. She’d worked here for a little while, a few years back. It was still familiar territory. She wondered how willing these people would be to lock her up. Some of them had worked with her before, but that hardly meant a thing now.

She walked in silence. He led her into an elevator, where they ascended all the way up to the eighteenth floor. That wasn’t even the top of the building. She’d never actually visited this floor before, so there was no telling what was on it.  The people she worked for tended to keep their secrets well-guarded, so she was almost excited to see what might be here .

They didn’t see much of anything on this floor. It was nothing special. All she could see was another maze of gray hallways.

The guard led her into a room at the end of one of these hallways.  She wasn’t sure quite what she expected to find in this room, but she started to grow a little afraid of it as the guard removed her handcuffs and turned to leave . She heard him lock the door behind her.

Now that he was gone, she could pay attention to the man who was sitting at the end of the long table in the middle of the room. “Romanoff,” he said, his voice a little cold.

“Fury.” She nodded.

“Come and sit down.  I think  you’re the person most equipped to explain to me what’s going on here.”

She did as he said, taking a seat near him in silence.

“Well? I’ll listen to whatever you have to say about this,” he said  calmly .

She took a breath. “I don’t have much to say for us. I know that what we were doing—harboring a fugitive—is illegal.  But HYDRA has done unspeakable things to Sergeant Barnes, and he's only trying to heal from the trauma they caused him by forcing him to do what he did . We were offering him shelter while he recovered, and we tried to figure out how to help him.”

“You’re saying that Wilson was in on this, too?”

“Yes.”

There was no point in denying that, not when it was a direct question and not when they’d found Bucky at his house. They’d have found enough evidence to be able to track him down, too—if they hadn’t already. Besides, Fury would never let her get away with lying. Now he was going to ask if there was anyone else helping them—

“Are you and Wilson and Barton aware of  just  how dangerous Barnes can be?” He asked, his voice soft.

She nodded. “I know firsthand, and you do, too. So does Sam. But he’s different now. He hasn’t been in contact with HYDRA since we detained him. He isn’t under their control anymore.”

“Are you aware that that training is still there? No one has made any effort to remove it.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to think before she spoke again. “We know that, sir. But we also know that he is innocent and that he would never try to hurt any of us. Sam knows him best. They’ve been… living together.”

Fury raised an eyebrow.

“He hasn’t done anything to try and hurt any of us,” she insisted.

She remembered the one time he'd left in the middle of the night, of course. That had made it hard for them to get a hold of Sam so that they could get help for Clint, but it hadn’t been his fault. He couldn’t have done that on purpose, it was a coincidence. Even she couldn't blame him for it.

Fury was nodding. “I see. Your recent personal experience with him has been fine. I understand that. But given his history and his behavior while he was under our custody,  I think  it’s better to keep an eye on him. We can’t let him go free with no hard evidence that it would be safe to do that.”

She glared at him.  “Have you considered,” she said  icily  , “That the reason he acted the way he did while he was with you was because you were locking him up, you were treating him the way HYDRA had, so it wasn’t any different and that was why he was still acting like his training was in effect  ?  Don’t you think that  maybe  if you’d treated him a little better, you could have figured it out and seen for yourselves that he isn’t dangerous when you aren’t locking him up in a prison cell like a damn criminal ?”

Fury nodded. “He might be safer under less… grim conditions, yes. But he can still be dangerous if he’s in the right situation, and that’s a good enough reason not to let him go.  We’re working on figuring out how to break through his training again, and also figuring out if he’s  really  innocent . We still have no proof of that, which is another reason to hold him here. In fact, all we have is proof to the contrary.”

Natasha seethed, but she remained silent.

“I’m sorry. I know you two must have gotten close during the time you spent together, but we can’t let him go because you trust him. You were one of my top agents, and you still are, but we can’t let him go only because you asked us to.”

She nodded. Arguing further would be useless. Trying to change his mind like that wouldn’t do a damn thing, and she didn’t know what would. So, she sat in silence, looking down at the tabletop.

Part of her wanted to ask what they planned on doing with her and Clint, but that seemed useless, too. She’d never be able to get a straight answer. All she knew was that there was no way she was going to be able to go home tonight.

She looked up when the door at the end of the room slid open. The man who’d dropped her off here earlier was standing in the doorway, looking awkward.

“Um… Agent Romanoff,” he said, clearing his throat.

He was younger than she’d thought at first, and he couldn’t have been here long, because she’d never seen him before. He looked nervous, his left hand fiddling with the handcuffs on his belt. She hoped he knew that those wouldn’t do anything against her.

She stood up from the chair and walked to the door, without so much as a glance over her shoulder at Fury.  She could feel his gaze on her as the guard snapped the handcuffs over her wrists and led her away, shutting the door behind them .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so i *really* like writing from Nat's perspective. Didn't expect to have to do that but i like it. 
> 
> still using Hemingway, and that's really cool. kinda feel like my writing's getting better because of it  
> also, i found another site that somebody recommended to me. descriptionari.com  
> I'll admit I haven't really checked it out in-depth yet but you can get quotes and stuff read other people's descriptive writing on a lot of topics.  
> just like, little one-word titles work, like I searched "anxiety" and it gave me a wider variety of more specific topics to choose from, so you can use that for inspiration if you want i guess. i dunno, i just thought it was cool, if you're bad with descriptive writing you might wanna give it a try, if not it still seems neat


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm out of school for the summer! might update on wednesdays too now just cause i can, tbh. i've got a lot of chapters already written so i think i can do that
> 
> aND im planning out my next fic :3

It didn’t take long at all to get to Stark Tower. That would have been impressive, given the traffic and the long distance, but Steve was far too impatient to appreciate it.

He’d have been happy to get out and walk, but Sam put his foot down on that one. So, they sat in traffic and Steve drove like a maniac when they weren’t stuck at a red light.

They could never have gotten there fast enough, not for Steve, but it only took about twenty minutes in the end. They hurriedly found a parking spot in the nearby parking garage and got out. Steve nearly ran back up the street to the tower. He could hear Sam beside him, struggling to keep up, but he hardly noticed. All that mattered right now was getting inside to talk to Tony.

They had to use the buzzer beside the door so that they could get Tony to let them in, much to Steve's irritation. Tony was notorious for ignoring things like phone calls and doorbells and buzzers. Steve pushed the button and waited as Sam caught up to him.

“Jesus. Cap, can’t you give a guy a break?” He asked, sounding a little winded.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Sorry.”

He might have said more, but a small beeping noise from the buzzer cut him off, followed by Tony's voice. “Took you guys forever to get here. I’m gonna let you in, though. We’ve got a lot to talk about. You should feel special, by the way. I normally have FRIDAY handle this kind of thing.”

There was a soft click as the buzzer disconnected. Before either of them could say a word, the doors opened and they were inside.

Sam looked over at Steve, raising an eyebrow. “So… what now, Cap? You know your way around here?”

He didn’t.

Luckily for him, though, FRIDAY was on duty, even if Tony didn’t seem to want to tell them where to go. Her disembodied voice from the ceiling made Steve jump a little. “He’s on the seventh floor. Elevator’s down the hall to your left.”

They did as she said—they’d both seen weirder things. They took the elevator up to the right floor and Tony was already waiting for them in the hall. Steve got the feeling he’d been waiting to see how long it would take them to find him.

“You made it, I see,” he said, glancing from one to the other. “Either of you want a drink?”

He could use one, honestly, but Sam shook his head. “No. Thanks. We should make this quick.”

Tony nodded. “All right, then. Follow me. We can talk in the lounge. I’d have met you in the lab, but DUM-E’s in kind of a mood today. Wouldn’t want to set him off.”

They followed him into the lounge, which seemed to be damn near halfway across the building. Steve could never quite seem to grasp how big this place was, no matter how many times he’d been here.

The glass doors opened for them and he led them into the lounge, which was a spacious living room sort of arrangement. They took their seats around the coffee table in the middle of the room. Tony sat in a big, leather recliner with his feet propped up on the table, and Sam and Steve sat opposite him on a couch.

“So. What is it you two wanted to talk to me about today?” Tony asked, looking more curious than anything else.

Sam cleared his throat. “Well, you know about Bucky. And everything we talked about on the phone?”

Tony nodded. “He’s back with Fury. Yes. And they got Natasha and Clint, too.”

“Yeah.” Steve sighed. “The two of them might be helpful, but we don’t have any way to reach them, so we have to worry about them more than anything. Do you know anything about what happened to them?”

“Aside from that they got captured, no.”

“Great.” Sam leaned back in his seat and looked up at the ceiling.

“But they work with him. So that’s gotta count for something, right?” Steve asked.

“So does Sam,” Tony pointed out with a little shrug. “Haven’t heard anything since you called but I’m sure they’re after you now, too. We have to assume that that they’re not going to give you any kind of special treatment just because you guys are friends.”

That was a good point, as much as Steve hated to admit it. “Okay, so… what do we do, then?”

All three of them went quiet.

“Could just go and break them out,” Tony suggested with a little shrug. “Like in, y'know, A New Hope?”

Sam stifled a laugh. Steve glanced over at him, but he was already avoiding his eyes. Okay. “Tony, no. There’s just three of us, we can’t take on a whole building full of Fury’s best guys.”

“It worked in Star Wars.”

“This isn’t Star Wars, Tony. We gotta be realistic here.” Sam popped his knuckles one by one, a little habit of his that drove Steve a little crazy sometimes. “Instead of sneaking in and trying to find them, what if we just go talk to Fury?”

Steve turned to look at him. “Sam. He’s after you. You’re not even going to get to talk to anyone, they’ll arrest you on the spot. And me, too, probably, and whoever else is with you.”

“I didn’t say me, I said we. You and Tony go.”

“That’s… not a bad plan. But there’s still nothing to stop them from arresting us the second we say what we’re there for,” Steve pointed out.

Sam shook his head. “Not… necessarily.”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

“No, no, hear me out. Tony, you said they’ve been keeping you up to date about Bucky.”

“Kinda.”

“Okay. So you’d know that they’ve caught them. And you’d know that they’re keeping them prisoner, so would it be a stretch to say that you told Steve about it?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Steve couldn’t disagree on that one.

“Yeah. But he’s his best friend. So… if he found out, maybe he could talk you into trying to help him?”

Tony nodded. “Better. So what you’re saying is that Cap and I just waltz in there and talk to Fury. I can claim that I just let it slip—he’s not gonna be happy about that, by the way—and Steve can make his case about how Barnes is all innocent and everything and it’s not right to keep him and Nat and Clint locked up and all that.”

Steve felt a small smile cross his face. “Exactly.”

“Damn, that’s easy. We can just waltz right in and talk Fury into letting us have the princess back.”

They still had a lot of planning to do, and research, and they hadn’t even thought about the legal part of the problem. That seemed like a problem for later, after they’d made their case to Fury. It seemed easy. He believed that he and Tony could talk Fury into agreeing to their terms, and they’d always have Sam for backup if things didn’t go quite right. They’d have the whole thing over in no time.

  
Bucky was sitting in the same cell that the guards had delivered him to hours before. The guy who’d locked him in there had been right—a lot of people had wanted to talk to him. They'd cuffed him and dragged him back out into the hall every hour or so, and every time they took him somewhere new.

He’d been in several sterile, mirrored interrogation rooms. They cuffed him to a metal table and asked him questions that he didn’t know the answers to, and they took him back to his cell when they were satisfied with the information that he gave, which was always next to none. It wasn’t much different from HYDRA. The questions were new. No one at HYDRA had ever asked him anything, and he couldn’t seem to decide if it was an improvement or not. They’d done a medical exam, too, which had included drawing blood. It had taken the nurse a while to find a vein—he’d forgotten how difficult that always was. Still, he complied with everything they asked of him. It was easier that way, to sit still and let them do what they wanted, to answer the questions they asked. Better to behave himself and get on these guys' good side, while he had the chance.

But now he was alone again. His cell was smaller than the one he’d left behind, and he hoped they’d find him a bigger one soon. He couldn’t live here.

Again, that raised the question of what exactly they planned on doing with him. No one had ever been very clear on that before, and they weren’t doing much to explain now.

He figured federal prison—if they could find a way to make it secure enough. He was something of a high-risk prisoner, after all. If they couldn't do that, then he figured they'd put him in solitary confinement. Or, if Fury could guarantee that he wouldn’t make another run for it, maybe he’d be staying here. That seemed like the best option to him. It was familiar, and his friends worked with these people. He might still be able to see them sometimes.

There was little hope of them letting him go free. They had all the evidence they needed of his crimes, thanks to the files Natasha had dumped onto the Internet so long ago. That would more than suffice as a reason to keep him, experiment on him. If they kept him long enough, they might even want to use him the same way HYDRA had.

He shivered, pulling his jacket around his shoulders. They’d let him keep his own clothes. He looked down at the jacket, which was soft and very warm. He was glad to have it, but he didn't know whose it was. It wasn’t his—it might have been Sam's—but no one had taken it from him, at any rate. He was glad they’d let him keep it, too, because this cell was freezing. He pulled his knees up to his chest and crossed his arms close to his body as he leaned against the wall. The jacket was soft—green, lined with some sort of thick material that he’d never even seen in the forties or after. It looked expensive. He almost felt bad for taking it.

There was a sound from above him—static. It was the intercom that the guards used to talk to him when someone new wanted to come and interrogate him. Great. He hadn’t had to see anyone in a while. He’d thought that they had finished with him.

He sat up again, adjusting the jacket around his shoulders.

“Barnes. Someone else wants to talk to you. It’s the last time… probably.” They sighed. “Somebody’s coming to get you in a minute or two.”

“Who wants to see me this time?”

“Your friends. Barton and Romanoff.”

“Why…?”

“Fuck, I dunno. Nobody tells me anything. Just sit tight until they come to get you, okay?”

It wasn’t like he had much of anything to say to that, so he sat back on the cot and waited for someone to come and open the door. Maybe he’d try and kick their ass. He wasn’t restrained—even if he was, he figured he could break through whatever they put on him.

He wasn’t sure it was worth it.


	31. Chapter 31

 Someone came to get Bucky in a few minutes. These people were efficient—he had to give them that. And… well, they didn’t treat him too badly. They almost gave him too much freedom.

The woman who came to get him from his cell didn’t even bother to cuff him. She let him walk right along beside her, free to do whatever the hell he wanted. It felt like a trap, as if one wrong move would have him drugged and strapped back into the chair for a memory wipe. If anything, that was worse than handcuffs, and it made him want to misbehave even less.

He didn’t speak, and she didn’t, either. They walked through a maze of hallways, down narrow, gray, concrete stairs, and through another set of narrower hallways until they arrived at a small door. She opened it and gestured for him to go inside.

He did as she told him to—there was no way he was going to refuse.

This kind of room was very familiar to him by now. It was small and cramped, with industrial, stainless-steel walls, floor, and ceiling, a metal table, and a mirror on the wall. The odd part, though, was who was already sitting at the table.

“Hey, Barnes,” said Clint, grinning. He looked a little bit too happy to see him, under the circumstances. Natasha was beside him. “Have a seat.”

There was an empty chair across the table from the two of them, so he sat down. It scraped against the floor, sending a chill up his spine.

“Why do they want me to talk to you?” He asked. He already didn’t trust whatever was happening here. They were being watched, given the mirror on the wall, and hell, Clint and Natasha worked for Fury. They might even be using this to buy their freedom. He hoped they wouldn’t do that, but he had no real reason to trust them right now. For all he knew, they’d been the ones to rat him out in the first place.

“I convinced them to let us talk,” Natasha said. “I spoke with Fury earlier. Things were… heated, but I may have convinced him of a few things. We’ve been mistreating you and he knows it.”

Bucky nodded. “I see.”

“So… we’re under surveillance, of course,” Clint said, glancing from Bucky to Natasha to the mirror on the wall. “You need to be careful of what you say. They’re being nice to us, but… not too nice.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No. I think I’ll spill some highly-classified government secrets right here, maybe. Get it out of the way right now.” He looked over at the mirror. “You guys ever wonder what happened to JFK?”

Natasha kicked him under the table.

“Sorry, sorry.” He felt brave, with the two of them here. He trusted them. Natasha's story checked out, even if he still didn’t understand how she'd gotten away with it or why anybody would want to help him. “They probably already know all about JFK, anyway.”

Clint laughed.

“Right. So, is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?” Bucky asked.

Natasha shook her head, and Clint shrugged. “Not really,” he said. “I mean, mostly Tasha wanted to check up on you. Make sure they’re at least treating you okay.”

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been in worse places.” Bucky nodded. It wasn’t great, still, but they weren’t hurting him. “Thank you, but I’m okay. Where’ve you guys been?”

“I’ve been in waiting rooms and shit, y’know, got reprimanded by a lot of people. They’re treating me like they’re cops and I got caught shoplifting, pretty much,” Clint said.

Natasha nodded. “Yeah. They don’t think he’s competent enough to have had much of a hand in any of it,” she said with a little grin. “He’ll get off easy, and so will I. They’re keeping an eye on me, though. Seem to think I’m dangerous.”

“That’s… good. I don’t want you to get into trouble for this. I don’t know what the penalty for it would be—”

Clint shook his head. “We’re gonna be okay, Bucky. I promise. Nat and I have been in bigger trouble before. We’ll get out of this one, too.” He smiled, and it was almost reassuring.

“Okay.” Bucky nodded.

“But we have a bigger problem,” Clint said.

“Oh?” Nothing could surprise him anymore, but he wished Clint could have told him and gotten it over with sooner.

“Yeah. While I was talking to some lieutenant or somebody earlier, she said…” he looked down at the table. “She said—or let slip, I guess—anyway, she said they wanted to move you somewhere more secure.”

Everything seemed to tilt sharply left as he stared at Clint, the chair and the floor both swaying beneath him. “What…?” He managed.

Natasha was nodding. “He filled me in while we were waiting for you. Nobody tried to stop us, so I guess it’s all right if we all know about it.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, James. I really am. Because you broke out of here so easily last time, they want to move you some place more… solitary.”

Oh. Oh, no.

“How solitary?”

“They didn’t tell me much of anything,” Clint said. His voice was pitying. “It was just in passing. An accident.”

Bucky swallowed, hard, staring down at the table. They were all silent for a moment, and no one seemed to know what to say.

This was it, then—the end of the line. They were going to lock him away in solitary confinement for the next eighty years. No visitors, from what Clint had said. He’d never see Steve again. He wouldn’t be able to tell him how he felt—he’d never be able to come out to him or to anyone else. This was it.

He swallowed, hard, and looked up at them again. “Can I… can I ask you guys something?”

Natasha nodded. “Ask away.”

He wasn’t at all sure about the question he was going to ask, but this might have been his only chance at asking it. He had to give it a shot. “I mean, it’s… a relationship thing.”

Clint raised his eyebrows. “Okay. We’ll try.”

He needed to word this carefully, so as not to give Steve away to anybody who might be listening. That might imply that he was into Sam, or one of the two of them, but that was better than not asking at all. He was still afraid of what they might think of him, though. What if they knew? What would they do to him, would they abandon him, would they tell Steve before he could, would they take Fury's side in all this? He'd only ever told one person before, and that was someone who he'd trusted, beyond a shadow of a doubt... He didn't know these two well enough.

But Steve—there was no way that he could think of for this to hurt Steve. Legally, he'd be fine. He was clean so far, as far as he knew. He could even help Sam and Clint and Natasha out of trouble if he wanted. Physically, he'd be fine, too. He was invincible now, after all, Bucky thought with pride.

But emotionally... God, he was so stubborn. He'd live with the guilt of never speaking to Bucky again for his whole life if he had to, and he wouldn't do a damn thing about it if he was mad enough. Except... would he feel guilty about that? Yes. And Bucky would, too. He'd feel awful about going off to solitary confinement his whole life without ever telling Steve how he felt. He'd never be able to live with that. That was reason enough.

“If I’m getting moved to, well, solitary confinement… I’m never going to see any of you again. And… well, it’s too late to say who it is, because—” he looked helplessly around the room— “I don’t want to put anyone in danger. I know that’s vague and stupid, but please just… hear me out.” He sighed. “I’m gonna lose the person I love. I’ll never get to see them again, and I already know they don’t have feelings for me but we sort of… fell out, a little while ago, and now I’m never going to even be able to apologize, and I feel so weird about all of it because I don’t think they have any idea and I can’t tell them and I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Clint nodded. “I’m sorry, Bucky.” He looked so confused and concerned that this wasn’t going to work out for him... Bucky felt kind of bad about it. “I can try to help you.” He glanced sideways at Natasha, who gave him a helpless sort of look. “Could… try and figure out a way to let you talk privately with them," he suggested. “I mean, you could at least get everything sorted out.”

“And we’re not going to let you rot in prison for the rest of your life,” Natasha added. “You’ve still got us. We’ll get you out, but I… understand… if you want to talk to them now.”

Bucky looked from Clint to Natasha, weighing his options. He could go for it, tell them everything, and hope for the best. But there were much more important problems to deal with than his own feelings. Telling them anything would put Steve at risk, and if he got specific, that would incriminate Sam too. But Fury's guys already knew about Sam. They’d found them at his house, and for all they knew, he could already be here. He also ran the risk of alienating Clint and Natasha entirely, because they might not be as friendly as Sam had been...

“I… want to tell him,” he said. Natasha wasn’t looking him in the eye. He followed her gaze down and realized that he was clutching the arm of his chair so hard with his left hand that the metal was ready to give out beneath his fingers. The knuckles of his right hand were white. He tried to loosen his grip, and she looked away. “But I don’t know how. He’s my best friend, and… he’ll lose it if I tell him. He’s not like me.”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Do you know he’s not like you?”

Bucky felt relief wash over him, even if it didn’t solve the problem. Clint, at least, didn’t hate him. “I lived with him,” he said. “I think I know pretty damn well.”

But come to think of it, he didn’t have any real, concrete evidence. Not that he could remember, but his memory was pretty spotty and, well, selective these days. He didn’t have any evidence to the contrary, either, though.

“Right.” Clint nodded. “But… don’t you think you should talk to him? He’s not… that kinda guy. He’s not gonna hate you.”

Bucky didn’t believe him. He wasn’t even sure Clint knew which guy he was talking about. “Okay.”

What did he have to lose? He was about to get locked up, anyway.

“But how am I going to talk to him?”

“Clint and I will be out of here soon,” Natasha said. “Maybe even tonight.” She sounded confident enough, even though there was no way her claim could possibly be true. It was a little contagious. “Clint and I can help with that part.”

“And hey, we might not even have to leave. He might already be here. Nat’s got every security guard in the place wrapped around her thumb,” Clint said with a tinge of pride.

Bucky laughed. Actually laughed. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it, really.”

“I’m glad we could help,” Natasha said. “We’re… not good at this stuff. Never have been.”

She looked so awkward that it was puzzling. “Huh?”

“Oh.” She glanced over at Clint. “Right. Guess nobody told you, because it doesn’t come up in casual conversation much. We don’t do… relationships. We’re not usually the people you go to for that kind of advice.”

“’Cause of work?” He asked. He sort of understood that.

“Not… really.” Clint shook his head. “It’s a little more straightforward than that, actually. She’s what's called aromantic, and I’m ace—asexual.”

Bucky gave him a questioning look.

Natasha sat back in her chair, her eyes on Bucky. “It’s… we’re not attracted to people, you know, that way. Neither of us. I’m not into romance, at all, and he’s not into… y’know. Sex.”

She looked over at Clint as if to confirm, and he nodded.

“Yeah. It’s always been like that. I guess… you’ve probably never heard of it before, being from the forties and all. But I think it’s fair that we tell you, ‘cause you just told us all that.” He grinned sheepishly. “Things have changed a lot since back then. We've got all kinds of new labels now. It's a hell of a lot more complicated but we can try and explain." Bucky nodded and he continued. "She’s what’s called ‘aromantic.’ It’s a little different for everybody, but basically she doesn’t want a romantic relationship with anybody.”

She smiled slightly. “Yeah. No attraction to anybody at all. I don't... date people.”

“And I’m the same, pretty much, but it’s just sex that I’m not interested in. Everything else about a relationship is fine. It’s a… well, not a new thing. It’s been around forever. But the label for it—asexuality—that’s new. Only been around since… maybe 2010?”

“People can do that?” He asked. "Just... come up with new... labels?"

“I mean, yeah. And they do, all the time. Sometimes, they do more harm than good, but a lot of them have done a lot to help people feel more comfortable with their identities,” Clint said. He sounded like Sam did when he talked about work or a book he’d been reading—or when he and Bucky talked, occasionally.

“I didn’t know… any of that. Everything was so different back then, and I figured it kinda stayed the same until I talked to Sam about it, but… yeah. I guess a lot more has changed than I thought at first.” He smiled. Hey, maybe he could talk to Steve, after all. If the times had changed so much, was it too much to hope that his best guy had, too?

“Yeah. If it helps… things are a whole lot easier in that respect,” Natasha said. “Even if nothing else is.”

It did help, in a weird kind of way. It made him feel better about a lot of things. It was a sort of silver lining. If they were true to their word and they found a way to help him, and he really did find a way out of here, then he had something real to look forward to. He smiled, feeling a little bit better than he had when their conversation had begun. “Thank you. Really.”

“Hey, any time,” Natasha said.

“Yeah. Whenever you need relationship advice from us,” Clint agreed.

Bucky grinned. “Of course. I’ll tell you if I need anything else,” he said.

One of them might have said something else, but they were interrupted by the intercom. “Hate to interrupt, but your time’s been up for… seven minutes now. My boss is about to start yelling. Somebody’s coming in there to get you in a second.”

It was the same guy as before—he sounded young. He could have been an intern. Bucky might have felt bad for the guy. At the same time, though, he’d been listening in and he knew a whole ton of stuff that he didn't need to know, so he didn’t feel too terrible.

It was far too soon that the door swung open and the same woman who’d dropped him off was standing in the doorway. “Barnes. Come on.”

He glanced back at them. Natasha smiled faintly, and Clint gave an awkward little half-wave. “See you guys soon.”

And he was off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn that's a longer chapter than usual  
> saturday's update might be a tad late because i have two paragraphs of the next chapter written and i'm about to go over to a friend's house for couple days-i'll try and get it done on time though!


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's on time, after all.

Steve wasn’t ready to go and talk to Fury. He wasn't even close to ready, not even with all the preparation and planning they’d done.

There was too much at stake. He could reveal himself as being on Bucky’s side and get himself into trouble, he could get Sam caught and detained. He could get Bucky into even bigger trouble. He could lose his job or cost his friends theirs. He could get Tony into trouble and drag him down with the rest of them.

There was so much that could go wrong, but he would risk it if there was a chance that he could win Bucky’s freedom in the bargain.

Tony was driving. They’d let him, because he owned the car and he was also the only one who had any idea where their friends were. He wasn’t a good driver, not even if you tried to sugarcoat it. He was well over the speed limit, swerving around every corner and running several red lights. Steve, in the back seat, clung to the door handle in order not to be flung around the backseat like a ragdoll. Sam, up front, voiced his displeasure several times.

“Jesus, Tony, can’t you ease up on the accelerator a little? You’re not flying the damn _Millennium Falcon_ ,” he complained. He'd nearly been thrown through the passenger side window as Tony turned a sharp corner.

“Sorry, bird boy,” Tony said, gunning it again as he tried to make the next green light. They shot through it right in time, only barely missing a truck that passed by in the other direction. Steve would have thought he’d be more careful with his expensive-ass cars, but… no. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

“Are we?” Sam asked in a pained sort of voice. Steve wondered if he was carsick. _Could he_ get _carsick?_ He wouldn’t think so. The flying he did had to be worse than this.

“I am. I’ve got things to do after this.”

Sam groaned.

“What’s the plan for when we get there?” Steve asked, wanting a change of subject from their bickering.

Tony looked back at him in the rear view mirror, a dangerous move by anyone’s standards, and particularly while he was driving sixty miles an hour down a busy street. “Cap, you and I gotta go in. Sam, I was thinking you should stay here—sorry—but they’re already looking for you, more than likely, and I don’t want you getting caught too. You’re gonna be backup.”

Sam looked less than happy with the idea, but he and Steve both knew that Tony was right. “Yeah. You guys both have your phones with my number… right?” He asked. “Can give me a call if you need me or, I guess… have somebody call for you.”

“So… do we just go right up to Fury and ask him to give us Bucky and everybody?” Steve asked. That was all that part of the plan amounted to, so far. It had sounded so simple, and easy, even, back at the tower, but now… he wasn’t so confident. From the looks of it, the others weren’t, either.

Tony shifted in his seat a little. He was driving slower now. Now that they were talking about what they’d do when they got where they were going, maybe he’d decided to focus on getting them all there in one piece. Steve, for his part, was relieved that they at least weren’t speeding anymore. Tony looked anything but calm, though. He was nervous—it was difficult to tell, but once he’d picked up on it, it was near impossible to miss.

“I dunno. There’s not much else we can do, Rogers.” He looked back at him in the mirror, eyebrows drawn together. “We can appeal to Fury. You can make your case. I’ll stand there and look pretty and maybe put a word in, and we’ll have your boyfriend and our friends back in no time.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Steve protested, red-faced. But that was useless—Tony was only going to keep teasing him now. He’d seen him look away from the mirror, smile lines at the corners of his eyes. “But... that might be the best we can do. It’s our least dangerous option, anyway.”

“There’s Hill,” Sam spoke up.

“But Fury can override anything she says,” Tony said. “Better to go straight to him first.”

“Hill’s our backup,” Sam decided. “She can talk him into it if we can’t… she might take pity on you and your puppy-dog eyes, Steve.”

“Hey!” What had he done to make them pick on him like this, anyway? “Fine, okay. Hill’s our backup. But… what if that doesn’t work?” He was still anxious, because this wasn’t any kind of plan. There was so much that could go wrong, and hell, there wasn’t a whole lot that could go right. He had a lot to lose, too, come to think of it, and he couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.

“Hell, I dunno,” Tony said, eyes on the road.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he spoke. “We can meet up and decide what to do then. We can’t plan that far in advance, because we don’t know what’s going to go wrong, if it does. But you two can call me, and we’ll decide what to do from there.”

Steve nodded, even though he wouldn’t be able to see him. “Yeah. Okay. And if something happens to the two of us…?”

“I’ll go and get somebody else’s help. Jesus, Steve, you make it sound like it’s a suicide mission. I promise, we’re gonna be okay. All you have to do is go in there and talk.”

“I know, but there’s just so much that can go wrong. I’m nervous. I don’t want to lose him for good this time.”

It had been awful, before, thinking that he was dead, and it only got worse as he learned what had really happened. He hadn’t been able to so much as visit Bucky, he couldn’t talk to him, all he could do was watch from afar as what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. held him in captivity. They’d kept him up to date on what they’d learned about him, too. They'd told him all about HYDRA and all the things they’d done, what Bucky had done. What they'd made him do. All without giving him even a chance of speaking to him for himself. He couldn’t imagine having to go through it again, or what that must be like for Bucky, or, hell, what was even happening to Clint and Natasha right now. But here they were, and if he fucked this up, they’d be worse off than when they’d started.

“Steve, Steve, it’s okay.” Tony’s voice was still rough but it sounded as though he was  _trying_ to be comforting. “We’ve done more difficult things than this before.”

And hey, he had a point… this was nothing compared to New York, or dealing with the Red Skull. They’d all handled worse things than this. But this was about _Bucky_.

“I know,” he said. “Yeah. It’s all gonna be over in an hour or two, anyway.”

He sure didn’t believe it.

Tony screeched to a sudden halt. He pulled over and parked at the curb in front of a nondescript-looking office building. Steve craned his neck, looking up at it through the car window. “This is it?”

“No, dipshit,” he said with distaste. “The place is a couple of blocks that way.” He gestured vaguely left. “I’m leaving the car with you, Sam. Don’t wanna get you into trouble by dropping you right on their doorstep, y’know.” He tossed the keys into Sam’s lap. “Take care of those. It’s a pain in the ass to get a new set made.”

“Deal.”

“Right. Ready to go, Cap?”

He nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” He unbuckled his seatbelt—which he was ever so grateful for, because it had saved his life several times on this car ride—and got out of the car.

Sam got out, too, slipping the car keys into his pocket. “Good luck, Steve. I promise you’re gonna get him back, though. Everything’s going to turn out okay.”

Steve pulled him into a hug as Tony joined them on the sidewalk. He stood there awkwardly for a moment until they broke away from one another. Sam patted him on the shoulder. “Good luck to you, too, Tony.”

“Thanks,” he said. “We’re off, then?”

Steve nodded. All the sudden, this seemed all too real. They were going to march into that building, ask to see Fury, and demand that he give them Clint and Nat _and_ Bucky, as if that wouldn’t get them both thrown in a holding cell. He swallowed, hard, catching up to Tony as he started walking. He waved back at Sam, who was getting into the driver’s seat of the car.

As it turned out, they’d only parked a few blocks from the building. Tony got them right in, scanning a badge that he produced from his pocket. Inside looked like any other old S.H.I.E.L.D. building. Fury and Hillbothered to remodel much, he could see, aside from getting rid of the old staff.

Tony led him through the lobby towards the front desk, where he talked to the receptionist for the two of them. Steve tried not to pay attention, his eyes wandering to the nameplate on the desk. _Miss J. Thompson_. That had been the last name of his and Bucky’s next-door neighbor. She’d been nice to the two of them… he wondered what had happened to her.

“Ma’am, is Director Fury in?” Tony asked, getting straight to the point.

Agent Thompson nodded. “Yes. He’s in, but he’s… occupied with other matters, Mr. Stark. He’ll be interested in seeing you, though, Captain Rogers. On several fronts.”

Her bluntness surprised him. Perhaps she hung out with Tony on her breaks—that might explain how they’d gotten in here so easily, too. “Why?”

“There are… several charges against you, as of late,” she said, examining her sharp, ruby red nails. “Having to do with one… James Buchanan Barnes.”

Steve paled, and she looked up at him sharply. “I’ll send you up to see the Director, sir.”

His heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as he watched her push several buttons on her desk. “Through that door on the right, Captain Rogers. Mr. Stark, I’ll need you to take a seat. The Director will see you in a few minutes,” she said, looking down at something on her desk.

Tony watched over his shoulder as Steve turned to leave. He made no move to take a seat, as far as he could see. He hoped that he was going to try and do something to help his case. He could use a little help right now, he thought as he headed through the door.

On the other side, there was a security guard already waiting. Had Agent Thompson called him over, or had Fury set this up in advance? That seemed like a very Nick Fury thing to do, he thought, following the security guard down the hall.

Fury was already waiting for him. He wondered if he’d been there long—had he been expecting to see him?

“Rogers. Come in.”

Steve glanced back at the man who’d been accompanying him, but he was already long gone. The door was closing behind him. He walked towards the table in the middle of the room, where Fury was already sitting. He seemed relaxed, as though this was the kind of thing he dealt with on a day-to-day basis. Which, to be fair… it may have been.

“Have a seat.”

He sat.

“Are you aware of the charges against you?” He asked.

“Not entirely. I was informed that they had to do with Bucky—with Sergeant Barnes.”

“Yes.” Fury nodded. “They are… numerous. But mainly assisting in harboring a fugitive who is also a known felon and conspiring with that felon. The rest are more minor variations of the same. Should I list them for you?”

He should have brought a lawyer with him, he thought. But it was too late now. “No. We can deal with that later. I want to talk to you about something more important.”

Fury raised his eyebrows. “All right.”

“Bucky.”

“Of course. What have you got to say for him? I’ve already heard one take on this today. I’m curious how yours might do the trick to convince me.”

That got his attention. Someone else had already talked to him? Who? Clint, Natasha? His money was on Clint. He couldn’t think of anyone else it could be. No one else here knew him the way they did.

“Rogers. Are you daydreaming?”

“No, sir. Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve known Bucky since we were seven years old, sir. No one else here—no one else in this _century_ —knows him the way I do. He wouldn’t have done any of the things he did if he’d had a choice. I can see why you’d have your doubts about that, after… what he did to you, and with what you know about him, but you know HYDRA just as well as I do. You know what they’re like, and the lengths they’ll go to to achieve their goals. We don’t know what they did to him, but if you just _take a look at him_ —”

“We have. Many times.”

Steve watched him from across the table. His heart pounded in his ears, so loudly that he thought Fury might hear. He clenched his hands on the arms of his chair, taking a deep breath. “He’s shell-shocked, sir. Anybody can see that. Sam and Nat and Clint and I have lived with him. We know that he didn’t do any of it willingly. He’s shell-shocked and guilty and he has nightmares every other damn night and I know you’re not inclined to trust any of us, but _please_ , he’s a human being, and if you don’t let him out of the cage, you’re not any better than HYDRA is.”

Fury looked him up and down. “I know how you feel about your friend and I wish I could help you, but the truth is, nightmares—secondhand accounts of nightmares—aren’t proof enough to let him go. He’s a criminal, Rogers. He needs to be treated as such until we have enough proof to do otherwise, and you and your friends do, too.”

He didn’t have proof. If someone else had already tried before, and it hadn’t been any use then… he wasn’t going to get any further. He didn’t have Tony to help him. His one plan had run out, and he was about going to get locked up anyway. He didn’t think he had any other options. Sam was still safe, at least, as far as he knew. There was still the possibility that he could salvage this.

He looked up at him, eyes stinging. “Sir, please, just let me see him?”

He might have decided to take pity on the pathetic expression on Steve’s face, because he nodded. “You can see him, but after that, you and I are going to discuss your options for your future. They aren’t looking too bright, as of right now, but perhaps if you agree to cooperate with us, then they might work out all right.”

He stood, on that optimistic note, and gestured for Steve to follow him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this thing doesn't pass the Bechdel test. I mean, it's gay fanfiction about dudes so,, i guess that's some kinda excuse,, but damn 
> 
> gotta do something about that


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a hard chapter to write.  
> i got started on it early but it still took all fucking week.  
> i hope it's good  
> also, Hemingway's really been fucking up my formatting when i go to copy/paste it from their site to here. watch out for that. it's been deleting my italics.

The guy on the intercom had _promised_ Bucky that no one else was going to disturb him for a good while. He’d sounded serious about it, too, and even a little guilty. That  just  had to prove how downtrodden he must have looked when he got back to his cell.

He didn’t even respond, he  just  sat back down on his cot. If no one else wanted to see him, it was going to be a boring few hours.

The intercom buzzed to life again a few minutes later. He jumped. The guy on the other end sounded apologetic, which made Bucky wonder if he could see that he'd startled him. “Somebody’s coming in to see you. They wanted me to tell you beforehand. You’re staying here this time, though. It’s supposed to be quick,  I think . Spur of the moment kind of thing.”

The line went dead before he could ask any questions. _Who was it this time?_ He’d see them coming, at least. He had the luxury of a transparent glass door, which at least wasn’t  just  a one-way mirror. He sat up a little, wondering if they were  really  going to come into his cell and talk to him. If that was the plan, these people had no goddamn sense of personal space—and it was dangerous, on top of that. They still hadn’t cuffed him or anything.

He got a little lost in thought, wondering who it might be. _A lawyer?_ He didn’t think they’d be nice enough to get him one. They hadn’t done that last time. He got the sinking feeling that it had to do with his earlier conversation with Clint and Natasha. They’d been listening in, after all. They knew all about it, if they hadn’t already. He’d been an idiot to think that there wouldn’t be any consequences for that.

It was almost twenty minutes before he saw anyone, but when he realized who was coming down the hallway, he felt a wave of fear. _Fury._

He recognized him all too well. He could only imagine why he was here—he pressed himself back against the wall, as if somehow he wouldn’t see him.

There was someone else with him, though. Walking a little behind him, which was why he hadn’t seen him immediately in the narrow hallway. This was another man, tall, blonde, and a little disheveled—Bucky’s heart beat even harder at the sight. He swallowed hard, sinking down a little on his cot and looking anywhere but at the door.

There was a chance that they’d walk right by, that they were doing something else, but no. Of course not. No one had walked all the way through this hallway without stopping to see him so far today. He wouldn’t be that lucky anyway, and besides, it was Steve.

He winced a little at the sound of the glass door sliding open, and there they were standing right in front of him. They were both silent. The cell was so small that they were hardly ten feet away, but they seemed much closer.

Fury put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and whispered something to him. Steve stepped into the cell and the door slid shut behind him. Fury turned and walked away.

Bucky stood up  silently.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said. His voice was  uncharacteristically  quiet. “Are they treating you all right?”

He looked up at him, wide-eyed. Steve had rarely spoken to him so  gently  before, and he sounded so concerned. It was the gentlest he’d been since the night they’d spent together, and in all honesty, hearing him talk that way was rare.

“Bucky?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m… okay. They’re not HYDRA, you know. All they’ve done is talk to me.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I  just  wanted to check on you.”

That didn’t explain anything, now that Bucky thought about it. “How’d you get in here? This place  is supposed  to be secure, isn’t it?” His experiences so far had been direct evidence to the contrary.

Steve nodded. “It’s… a long story, Buck. I’m trying to help you.  You’ve got me and Tony and Sam on your side, and we don’t know where Natasha and Clint are for the moment but we’re working on getting them out, too .” He shifted on his feet, looking away for a moment.

“They’re  just  letting you come and visit me?” Bucky asked.

“Pretty much,” Steve said, still looking a little shifty. Bucky could tell when he was lying, and now was no exception, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was about this time.

“Thanks,” he said with a shy smile. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t,” Steve said  dismissively. “C’mon. You’d have done the same for me.”

He hugged him. He was afraid, at first, that Steve would try to push him away, but he didn’t have to worry.  He  was pressed  into Steve’s shoulder, the pair of strong arms around him  practically  crushing the air out of his lungs. Eyes tight shut, he took a deep breath.  Something tugged  softly  at his hair, and it took him a moment to realize that Steve was running his fingers through it. It felt… nice. He let himself relax, for what might very well have been the first time in about a century.

Steve pulled away, far too soon. He lingered a moment longer, but all too soon he had to stand back and look up at him again.

“That’s… my jacket,” Steve said after a moment’s silence.

Bucky looked down, confused. “This?” He asked. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.” He started to shrug it off.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Steve reached out to readjust it. He pulled it back over his shoulders and straightened the collar. “Looks good on you. But you could have told me you took it, y’know. I was looking for that.”

Bucky decided not to argue. He wouldn’t have been able to come up with anything to say, anyway. He was blushing  brilliantly. He knew Steve could see it, how could he not—it was  painfully  obvious. “Thanks, Steve,” he managed after a moment, his face still pink.

He nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Incredibly, Steve still didn’t comment on the fact that he was blushing. He fiddled with the sleeve of his—Steve’s—jacket. Steve looked as though he were thinking hard about something.  It was the same look Bucky had always noticed when he was focusing on his math homework, or when they’d had study hall together. He looked away  quickly. No need for him to get all distracted by something stupid like that.

“I didn’t  just  come here to check on you,” Steve said. “I wanted to apologize, too.”

“What for?” He looked up at him in confusion. As far as he knew, there was nothing that he’d need to apologize for.

Steve sighed. “For the way I’ve been treating you lately, and for what I said to you that night we… spent the night together.” He looked awkward. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have waited so long, Buck. And I didn’t mean anything by it, either. I want you to know that. I didn’t mean to… freak you out.”

Oh. “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “I haven’t been treating you right, either. And there’s this whole mess. I’m sorry for that, too.”

He nodded. “It’s okay. This is all gonna work out, in the end. I talked to Fury and  I think  I can get him to work with me. We’re gonna get you and Clint and Nat out of here, Buck. You don’t even have to worry.”

Bucky could tell he was lying.  He sounded so hopeful, but there was that telltale way the corner of his mouth twitched as he spoke and how his eyelashes fluttered a little—he blinked, looking away. “I know.”

That was it, then. It wasn’t going to work out, more than likely. Steve had said it would be okay, but he’d lied. What Clint and Nat had told him was true. They'd ship him off to solitary confinement or whatever they deemed fit for someone like him. He was never going to see Steve again. If he wanted to tell him how he felt, now was the time.

His heart jumped into his throat and he looked up at his old friend again, swallowing hard. “Steve?” He could _not_ , under any circumstances, think about what he was going to do. He would tell him, he’d get it over with, Steve would know, and he could deal with the consequences from there. Whatever Steve did to him for it was better than him not knowing at all, wasn’t it?

“Yeah?”

“I’m…” Blood rushed in his ears and he was looking anywhere but at Steve, his face bright red all over again. His breathing was  suddenly  quick and shallow, the jacket felt  uncomfortably  hot— “I’m gay, Steve.”

Steve was watching him  carefully.  The expression on his face was indecipherable, even for a HYDRA-trained ex-assassin like Bucky . It might have been anger, or disgust or pity—he wouldn’t have been able to tell which. He didn’t want to know. He stood silent, tense, looking up at him and waiting for a blow to fall. But none came. Steve was far too quiet for a long time before he spoke. His expression was still restrained, and Bucky didn’t know why. It scared him more than if he’d been able to read him.

“I’m glad you could tell me, Buck.” When he spoke, at last, his voice was so soft that Bucky almost thought he’d imagined it.

But he hadn’t. His expression had softened. The corner of his mouth quirked up, just faintly, in that way that was so familiar. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t going to hurt him. Bucky felt a weight lift off his chest, one he’d been aware of ever since he’d talked to Sam last week.

He couldn’t imagine how he was ever going to tell him the rest.

“Thank you,” he managed in a choked sort of voice, his eyes welling up. He reached up to run a hand across his face in an attempt to hide it, but it was no use.

Steve reached up and brushed his thumb across his cheek, wiping away the tears that had already fallen and reaching up to push his hair back from his face. “Hey, ‘till the end of the line, right? And if it makes you feel any better, I’m not exactly… straight, either.”

Bucky looked up at him in awe, unable to even come up with anything to say to that. His lip trembled and he bit down on it, trying to keep Steve from seeing. That was no use, too. He was looking at him with unmistakable concern,  probably  a little lost. Bucky had always done his best not to let him see him this way. “You’re not  just  saying that to make me feel better or something, are you?” He asked, because this still didn’t feel as though it could  possibly  be true.

He shook his head. “No, of course not, Buck. I’ve been into guys since I can remember. I wouldn’t lie about that. You’d know if I tried.”

Bucky smiled  shakily, more tears falling even as he tried to stop them. His breath hitched, his vision blurring, and he was in Steve’s arms again. He hid his face in the crook of his shoulder, clinging to him as  tightly  as he could.  Steve held him, rubbing his back until he’d calmed down a little and not complaining as his sweater grew  slightly  damp with tears.

He raised his head again after a few minutes and looked up at him  sheepishly. He ran a hand over his face, wincing a little as he noticed that his eyes still burned. “Thanks, Stevie,” he said with a little sigh.

Steve leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Hey, any time, Buck. Whenever you need me.”

That was kind of a stupid thing to say right now, with Bucky locked up in a prison cell, but he was already blushing anyway. He looked away, a little embarrassed, but Steve was still so close that there was no hiding it. He pulled back, dropping his arms back to his sides. Steve did the same.

A lot of that must have showed in his expression, because Steve frowned  slightly. “It’s gonna be okay, Buck. I promise. I’m gonna get you out of here.”

Above them, the intercom crackled. “Your ten minutes are up. The Director’s coming over to get you, Captain Rogers.”

Steve sighed. There was a soft click as the intercom turned off again. He looked… nervous. Bucky would be, too, if he’d  just  received the news that Fury was coming to find him. He would have written it off as that, but Steve hardly gave him the chance.

“Buck…?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He blinked up at him for a moment. It had been a long time since he’d heard those words. Damn near seventy years—that or longer.

“I love you, too,” he said after a pause.

If Steve was expecting an answer, it  clearly  hadn’t been that. The surprise on his face was kind of sad. “I’ve loved you for a long time, Buck. It took me so long to realize and I should have figured it out sooner, but I guess now might be too late.” He looked a little scared now, the way Bucky had felt a moment ago. “I wish I’d told you sooner.”

He reached over to take his hand. It wasn’t a big gesture, not by any means, but he hoped it would reassure him. “It’s not too late, love, I promise. We’re gonna be okay. And anyway, now is better than not at all, right? I never even thought I’d get the chance to tell you."

Steve was looking down at their hands, an expression of pure wonder on his face. Bucky figured he must look the same way, because he was still shocked by what had  just  happened. It was going to take a while for him to process everything.

“Once I get out of here,” Bucky said, “I’m going to take you somewhere  really  nice and we can get dinner together and it’ll be a proper date.”

Steve grinned, looking at him with an expression that was so familiar that Bucky didn’t know how he’d missed it for so long. “It’s not gonna be long ‘till then, Buck.”

Behind them, the door opened. Fury cleared his throat  loudly. Steve leaned over and kissed his cheek, and then he’d already pulled away and he was gone. Bucky was alone again, and it was hard for him to tell if any of that had ever even happened to begin with.

_Steve loved him._

It sounded too good to be true.


	34. Chapter 34

As soon as he had the chance, Tony slipped back outside through a side door. No one had been watching him, only the receptionist, and she hadn’t even been paying much attention. He’d been lucky.

The first thing he did once he was out was call Sam.

He picked up on the first ring. “Tony. Hey. Everything going okay for you?”

“Not… exactly.” Tony sighed. “They got Steve. Figured out that he was helping you guys, I guess. I got out, though. They weren’t paying me any attention.” He huffed  softly. “Anyway, we need to meet up again. Try and contact Steve, I guess… he’s with Fury right now. I don’t think he’ll answer your calls, but it’s worth a try. Where are you?”

“I’m right where you left me. I’ll try and call him while you’re on your way over, all right?”

“Yeah. It’s  maybe… a fifteen–minute walk. Be there in a bit.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. You, too.” Tony hung up, tucking the phone into his pocket. He kept his head down as he walked back down the street. He’d be harder to spot now,  hopefully, if only because Steve wasn’t with him. That was the last thing he needed, though. Being surrounded by a bunch of people with cameras was his worst nightmare at the moment.

To his relief, it didn’t take long to walk back to the car. As promised, Sam was right where they’d left him. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, looking through the CD's that he’d found in the armrest.

He looked up when Tony knocked on the passenger side window, unlocking the door for him and clearing the CD cases off the seat .

“You still listen to CD's?” He asked. “ _Really_ , Tony?” He shook his head, starting to put them back.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I installed the CD player myself, Wilson. I’m gonna enjoy it.”

“When, in 2001? That’s beneath you.”

“We have bigger problems.”

“No way.” Sam stacked up the last of the CD's in the armrest and closed it again. “All right. Yeah, I tried to call Steve. No luck. I’ll bet he doesn’t even listen to CD’s, though—"

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony rolled his eyes. “He would if he knew they existed. I’d say that  maybe  there’s  just  no cell service, but… nah.” He knew better than that.

“What, you set up their cell towers or something?”

“Yup.” Tony grinned, a little too  smugly.

“So? Even you can fuck things up sometimes.  Maybe  he _doesn’t_ have cell service.” He shrugged. “Anyway, you didn’t tell me much on the phone. Where is he?”

“Last time I saw him he was going up to see Fury. Receptionist lady said there were charges against him, but I dunno what they were. She said they had to do with Bucky, though.”

Sam sighed.  “Somebody  probably  saw Captain America crawling through my fucking bathroom window and decided to call the press. Should have been more careful.”

Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Didn’t want to use the front door, ‘cause people were  obviously  watching the house,” he explained. “We could have thought our solution through a little better.”

Tony laughed.

“But if he's… well, in trouble, then… I guess we have to use the backup plan?”

“Hill?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I guess… I should come in with you, this time. D’you know a back way in?”

“Why should you come with me? They already got Steve. It’s even more dangerous for you now.”

He nodded. “I know, but if you’re going to talk to her I don’t want you to do it by yourself. I can make a better argument. I know him, you don’t.”

And hey… Sam was right. He nodded,  reluctantly. “Okay. But we’re gonna be careful, all right? No rushing into things. There’s a back way in that we can use. Nobody’s ever there, but we still have to find her. She’s usually in her office, so… I guess we start there.”

“Should we head over now?” He asked.

“Could go for lunch first, but yeah. Better hurry.”  It was already late, and as much as Tony would love to stop by a drive-thru somewhere and grab a snack, he couldn’t keep Sam’s friends waiting. Even Steve was  probably  dying to get out of wherever he was right now, and it had hardly been a half an hour.

“I’m driving?” Sam asked.

“You’re driving,” he confirmed, making himself comfortable in the passenger’s seat.  He looked through the armrest compartment for a CD, while Sam watched him in distaste for a moment but decided not to comment. Instead, he focused his energy on getting out of the tight parallel parking spot.

Traffic was worse than ever now—because it was later, Tony figured. He was getting impatient. Sam was a careful driver, and worse, he needed directions from Tony. He was regretting letting him drive. He could have made it in half the time.

He  was convinced  that they were never going to get there, and that they’d be in this car for the rest of their damn lives, when he finally looked up and saw the building.

He directed Sam to park around the corner, where they'd find their side entrance.

Luckily, it was a little side street, almost an alley. There was no one around when they got out of the car.

“Come on, follow me,” Tony said, looking around as he headed for the door. It was completely nondescript, not an address or a window to catch the attention of passerby. He scanned his ID to let them in. _Hopefully_ that wouldn’t alert anyone important. He held the door for Sam.

“This is pretty boring,” Sam commented as soon as they were both inside. “You’re telling me this is the place you guys are treating like it’s Fort Knox and they’ve got everybody hostage? It looks like the VA office where I work.”

And yeah, he had a point. It was a linoleum and yellow-painted cinder block hallway. “Would you rather it was Fort Knox?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“C’mon. Let’s go,” Sam said, starting to walk down the hall.

“Her usual office is on the sixth floor,” Tony said. “I… don’t know where the elevator is.”

“Usual?” He asked, his voice a little incredulous.

He nodded. “Yeah. She’s busy, y’know? Got lots of places to be, I guess.”

“Tony, even _you_ only have one office. Do you even _have_ an office?”

“I have a lab.” He thought on it for a moment. “But the lab has a lot of rooms, so does that count as more than one…?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Let’s  just  hope she’s there. The elevator’s gotta be around here somewhere.  Maybe  there’ll be a sign.”

Tony’s hopes weren’t high, and Sam’s didn’t seem to be, either. S.H.I.E.L.D.  was known  for their large, complicated buildings. The idea was something about it being easy to get bad guys lost in here. _Were they bad guys right now?_ If they were, it was working.

He took a right down a new hallway that was identical to the last one. They walked side-by-side, both surveying the empty, fluorescent-lit space in silence. Tony spotted a security camera and lowered his head—they needed to watch out for those, too. Someone had to be on the lookout for them.

Of course, they seemed to have let him go last time, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know he was back. They’d  probably  known from the start. Fury was good at calculating things like that, so he wouldn’t be at all surprised.

He hoped that they’d  be preoccupied  with Steve and Bucky for at least a few more minutes.

Hill shouldn’t  be involved  in that—would she? It was a big deal, and she was Fury’s right-hand man. She could be in the room with Fury and Steve, even. That would make it a little bit difficult for them to make their case to her.

_Would it, though?_ They didn’t even know where Steve was right now or what had happened to him. For all they knew, he was  just  a little bit held up signing everyone’s release papers, but… unlikely.

Sam grabbed his shoulder, and he jumped. “What?” He hissed. Whispering seemed appropriate.

“Hey, pay attention. Someone’s coming.”

They both stopped walking and listened. Footsteps approached. They looked at one another, then towards the source of the sound. Tony tensed up, not sure what to expect. They were at a corner. The other person was on the other side of it, so they wouldn’t see them until they were right on top of one another.

Surely, if someone was after them after all, they would have alerted the whole building and  maybe  not let him leave in the first place. Who was this, then? They hadn’t seen anyone so far.

He waited, holding his breath. Sam was nervous, too, and he knew they both had to look suspicious, even if whoever was coming didn’t recognize them. There was nothing else to do. He didn’t want to turn and walk back in the other direction.

The footsteps drew closer and closer.  He got ready to run, or to fight—either was all right with him as long as it didn’t result in him  being thrown  in a cell with Steve and Bucky.

But before he could make up his mind about what to do, the noise started to recede again.

He looked up at Sam, as if making sure he’d heard right, but he seemed to have heard the same thing.

There had to be another corner up ahead, and they’d headed in that direction instead. He sighed in relief, peeking around the wall and looking up ahead.

Sure enough, there was a doorway not thirty feet away that had to lead to another hallway. They were lucky, he decided. They must have picked a good time to come, too, for it to be so deserted.

He gestured for Sam to follow him, creeping around the corner and walking down this hallway. They both picked up the pace a little. He’d been in this building before. He should know his way around, he was aware, but everything looked the same. It was creepy.

He was starting to lose hope of seeing a sign or another person—friendly or not—or _anything_. This place was weird as hell, and he didn't know how anyone found their way around here.  Just  as he was about to give up and suggest to Sam that they get out, he spotted a sign up ahead. It was high up on the wall at another intersection where their hallway ended.

_Finally,_ he thought, rushing forward to take a look at it. Sam followed.

“Thank fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Thought we’d never get out of here.”

He examined the sign. It was plain, a series of little plastic panels screwed into the wall with labels and arrows on them.

“Visitor center?” Tony read aloud. “Think we should chance it?”

“Are we visitors?”

“Good point.” He nodded. “Doesn’t say ‘elevator’ anywhere, though…”

That was disappointing.  He’d have thought they’d have at least made it easy for people who _worked here_ to get around, but  maybe  they were trying to get them lost, too . That couldn't surprise him.

“Reception…” he mumbled to himself, thinking. _What to do…_ “Emergency exit… that’s good to know… Cafeteria? That’s no help. Security. Storage… Visitor center. Medical. _Medical?_ Okay… garage…”

Sam looked over at him. “There’s gonna be an elevator or some stairs or something in the garage, right?”

“Yeah…” He nodded. That might have been their best option. It would at least get them up a floor or two. “But how do we get in? It’s  probably  secure.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, nodding towards the pocket in Tony’s jacket where he kept his ID. “Aren’t you some kinda VIP?”

“Good point.”

The arrow for the garage was pointing down the hall to their left, and so were “security” and “storage.” So was “medical.”  Tony was still wondering what they had a medical department for—hell, he still didn’t know what this building was for.

It was still a long walk, but this hallway wasn’t empty, though. There were doors every so often, all closed tight. There was no telling what was behind them. It was possible that they were in the medical department—the hospital wing?

Their long, peaceful walk didn’t last long enough. They’d hardly made it halfway down the hall before there were voices and footsteps up ahead again. This time, it was  clearly  more than one.

He groaned  inwardly, looking over at Sam, who glanced back at him, looking scared. He didn’t know what to do any more than he did.

There wasn’t anywhere to hide, except for the doors along the hall, of which there were two. Whoever was coming would walk around the corner and see them, and that would be it. They’d  be done  for, and there was no one else to call for help.

Except… there were still the doors on either side of them.  That was risky, because they didn’t know what was on the other side, but it was better than coming face-to face with the people who were walking towards them.

He tried one of the doors, the one on their left. It was their only option, and they were running out of time.

Luckily, it opened. He grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him inside, shutting it behind them.

A glance around the room showed them that it was empty, thank God. It was little more than a closet, something like a high school science lab. There were rows of tables taking up much of the floor, and shelves crowded in along the walls.  They were full of cardboard boxes and some things he identified as miscellaneous lab equipment. There was a sink in the back of the room,  oddly  enough—he couldn’t imagine what that was for.

Sam stood beside the door as he looked around, listening for footsteps. He tensed up, his eyes going wide, as they stopped right outside the door. He relaxed again a moment later as they continued on. “ I think  it’s safe,” he whispered.

“I’ll look,” Tony said, going to open the door.

Sam reached out and grabbed his wrist, and he snatched his hand back. “What? Can you still hear someone?”

He shook his head. “Look out the window, Jesus Christ. Don’t open the door.”

There was a little window in the middle of the door, covered with blinds. Tony pulled them aside and looked out, listening for any sign of danger.

“I think  the coast is clear,” he said.

“Are you _sure?_ ”  Sam pushed him aside to look, and when he  was satisfied  that there was no one there, he opened the door and looked around again .

Tony followed him outside—they’d been in that little room long enough. He wanted to get up to Hill’s office before anyone could see them. “C’mon. It’s gotta be close,” he grumbled, already walking again.

This time, the only footsteps they could hear were their own. The walk wasn’t far either,  thankfully.  The double doors to the garage  were labelled  with bold letters, which was good, because they’d  probably  have missed it otherwise. Tony took out his badge and scanned it.

The scanner made a harsh beeping noise and the indicator turned red. He looked up  anxiously, but had the good sense to try again, at least, before he gave up.

This time, it worked. The doors hissed open and Tony let out a sigh of relief.

“Let’s hurry up and find the elevator and get up to the right floor,” Sam said. He was already pushing through the doors and looking around the vast garage.  It looked kind of like a parking garage, except that this section of it housed a couple of large tractor-trailers and a squat, heavy-looking truck.  Maybe  they used this part as a loading dock? That almost guaranteed that they would be able to find an elevator.

They  hastily  explored the area. There was no elevator, it seemed, to their dismay—why wouldn’t they have an elevator here? Did they carry everything that went in and out up and down the stairs? He couldn’t actually remember taking an elevator, come to think of it. Still, there was a staircase, which Sam found almost immediately. Climbing up six flights of stairs didn’t appeal to either of them, but it seemed as though it was their only option.

Finally giving up his search, Tony went to scan his badge for the door to the stairs. It opened immediately, startling him. Sam had already joined him there, looking as though he was bracing himself for the climb. He felt much the same way.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, already heading through the door. “We can go up and talk to her and she’ll help us and then we can go home.”

“We don’t even know if she’ll _be_ there, Tony.”

“Way to be positive, flyboy,” he grumbled, starting to climb the stairs.

He was going to have to have a word with Hill about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s choice in architects—and interior designers, too. He’d make a point of that, while they were already going to talk to her. This building was a disaster.

They reached the top of the stairs much sooner than he’d expected. It was only one flight, as it turned out,  just  up to the next floor. The door at the top was open, and he stepped out. Sam followed him, looking around.

“Shit,” he said, and that summed up how Tony felt, too. “We’re only on…” he glanced over at a little sign beside the door. “The second floor. _Still._ Only on the second floor.”

He looked dejected, and Tony felt kind of bad. “Yeah.” He sighed. “There’s gotta be another way up. C’mon. We’re not stranded or anything.”

They kept walking, more  aimlessly  now—taking a right down the hall and heading in that direction for a long time.

_Finally_ , after far too long, in Tony’s opinion, the hallway opened up into a bigger corridor. There, _at long last,_ was an elevator.

He almost felt as though he were hallucinating, but when he scanned his badge, it worked. Sam looked  warily  around beside him. “Somebody’s gonna be in the elevator,” he muttered. “I know it.”

Tony shook his head. “They won’t even notice. We’ll get up to her office no problem, watch.” He didn't feel much better about it himself, though, with the way their luck had gone so far.

The doors slid open, and the elevator was empty after all. Tony shot him a pointed look as he stepped inside, pushing the button for the sixth floor.

As the elevator soared upwards, he wondered how much time they’d spent looking for it. It had to have been an hour, at least. His feet hurt. And what happened to Steve during all this time? Was he all right? He hadn’t ever thought he’d worry about him, but here he was. And Clint, too. Natasha could take care of herself, and Bucky  probably  could, too, but he  was worried  about Clint.

_They’d be okay_ , he promised himself. The hour they’d lost wouldn't make a difference.

The doors slid open again with jarring suddenness, and he stepped out.

There was a woman waiting for him on the other side, watching him with a cold, calculating stare. “Stark. Wilson,” said Maria Hill. “I’ve been waiting for you two to show up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that's the longest chapter ive ever written :/  
> idk how


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this one's shorter lmao
> 
> ***also if youre using hemingway REALLY be careful about your formatting when you copypaste out of the website after youre done editing  
> it's been fucking my shit up really bad  
> like, check EVERYTHING over  
> it's been adding extra spaces after my adverbs lately which is BULLSHIT
> 
> anyway.  
> have a nice day.

Steve turned away from Bucky and went to follow Fury. He hated to leave him alone there, but what choice did he have? It wasn’t like Fury was going to let him come with them to wherever they were going in order to “discuss his options for the future.”

He wasn’t looking forward to that, either. He wanted to be back with Bucky.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to concentrate on any of what he and Fury were going to try and talk about, after everything that had just happened. _Bucky loved him._ It was… insane. Anyone would be distracted by that, wouldn’t they? He could hardly stand to think about anything else.  _Bucky loved him._

Fury was saying something as he led him down the hallway, but he wasn’t paying him any attention.

“Rogers?” He’d stopped walking a few yards back—Steve stopped, too.

“Sorry, sir?”

“Stop daydreaming, or I’m going to start thinking that letting you see Barnes was a mistake. The elevator’s back here.”

“Oh.” He went red, turning back around and going to join him as the doors opened. They both stepped inside, and Fury pushed the button for his floor. “We’re going back to my office, now that you’ve had your chance to say whatever it was you wanted to say to Barnes.”

The look on his face gave Steve the impression that he’d seen… at least something. He didn’t know if he liked that very much. How much did he know, exactly? It made him nervous.

But Fury wasn’t the type to use that against him. _Was he?_

“We have plenty to discuss,” he was saying. “I know you believed that you were doing what was right, as you often do, but that doesn’t make the crime you committed any different. It also doesn’t reverse any of the things Barnes has done.”

“What about everybody else?” Steve asked. He hadn’t heard a single thing about them yet.

“Romanoff, Barton, and Wilson?” He asked. “And Stark?”

“Yes.” They had to know about Sam—that made sense. And Tony… yeah, him too. They’d come in here together, after all. He wondered if they’d caught him and Sam yet.

“Barton and Romanoff had a limited role, so the charges against them are less severe. Romanoff is still here, but Barton went home this morning. Wilson is facing roughly the same as you, and Stark is to be determined.”

But… had they caught them? He didn’t seem to want to say. The elevator doors dinged open and Fury stepped out, gesturing for him to follow.

They walked down the hall for a little bit until they came to the door at the end of it, which Fury unlocked and held open for him. It was the same place as earlier, he was realizing now. He’d been too preoccupied to notice his surroundings, but this room had to be some sort of temporary office situation for Fury—his office was in another building all the way across the city.

“Come on, Rogers. Sit down,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of talking to do. Need to figure out what to do with you.”

He obeyed, sitting across from him at the table.

“We’re trying to keep regular law enforcement out of it, as of now,” Fury said. “Because this is a matter concerning only my department, but Barnes makes it difficult. You and Wilson and the others, I think, we can keep out of serious trouble, but Barnes is a different story. He’s got nearly one hundred countries after him as of now—which isn’t a recent development.”

Steve nodded.

“But,” he went on, “We aren’t here to talk about Barnes. I know you two know each other… very well, but I’m concerned about _you_. Like I said, I’m confident that I’ll be able to get you out of any trouble with law enforcement, but the problem is that you keep doing things like this.”

“I’m… not sure what you mean, sir,” he said.

“You keep risking your safety and your reputation this way. Last year, you did the same thing for the same person. You take unnecessary risks in combat. It’s becoming dangerous to you and to me, and to everyone you work with. Wilson is a prime example.”

He looked up at him, wondering what he meant.

“It was your plan to help him hide from the beginning. He would never have been involved if not for you. The other two, too.”

“No,” he said softly. “He showed up at my apartment one night and he needed a place to stay. We didn’t want to turn him in, he was scared and we were worried for him.”

But even as he said it, he realized that he had a point. Natasha had been against it entirely. She might have killed him, even… She’d only agreed to help because she was outvoted. The other two had wanted to help, at least, but if not for him they’d have been indifferent. He looked down at the table, not meeting Fury’s eyes.

“If this behavior doesn’t stop, there will be more serious consequences in the future. You mean well, but you’re doing nothing but putting others in danger. You could have turned him in to us and all this could have easily been avoided.”

“He ran away for a reason.”

“Excuse me?”

“He ran away for a reason, sir. I never found out why, but whatever it was, I couldn’t just haul him back here. He was afraid, or—I don’t _know._ It would have been cruel.”

“You wanted to protect him.”

“Yes.”

“And that worked out well for you.”

“I… don’t know what your point is.” Steve couldn’t stand to look up at him again. “I tried to tell you, he’s innocent. He hasn’t done anything _willfully._ HYDRA manipulated him and tortured him and did God knows what and none of it was his choice. I just wanted him to be safe.”

“I know how much he means to you,” Fury said in a pointed sort of way. “And maybe he is innocent. I can trust your judgement, to a degree, but right now there’s nothing to back it up except for your… affection… for him. All I’ve got to go on is what I know, and from my point of view you’ve been risking everything you’ve got to protect a cold-hearted killer.”

_Bucky. Cold-hearted._ He’d never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. “I’ve already tried everything I’ve got to convince you that he’s innocent,” he said levelly, looking up at him again. “It didn’t work before and it’s not going to work now, so… I’m not going to try again.”

Sam and Tony were on their way to help. He could trust them… couldn’t he? Sam was smart and resourceful, and so was Tony. They were still safe, they had to be. His part of the plan was done for now, so he could rely on them to do the rest.

Fury nodded. “I’ve given you a warning. You need to be more careful in the future. You have a reputation to uphold—mine and yours. And your safety, too. There’s a lot at stake.”

It was hardly a fair trade, but there was nothing he could do. He agreed anyway. “Yes, sir. I know.” He sighed, going quiet as he considered his next question. “Can I at least know what’s going to happen to Bucky?”

He looked across the table at him, his expression severe. “I don’t want you meddling with this anymore, Rogers. I let you see him again. You told him what you needed to, is there anything else you need?”

“I’m worried about him.”

He eyed Fury stubbornly. Bucky hadn’t told him anything about what was going to happen when he’d gone to see him. They’d been busy talking about much more important things, but now it felt like it had been a good-bye more than anything else. It scared him.

“We don’t know what’s going to happen to him as of right now. Unless someone can prove his innocence— _really_ prove it—“ He looked pointedly at Steve. “And I don’t have any idea how the hell anyone would do that, he’s in a hell of a lot of legal trouble. Even if we do come to some sort of agreement on that, he’s still going to be in an… unfavorable position. He isn’t going to get out of it with no consequences.”

Steve nodded.

“I wish I could help you,” Fury continued. “He might have been your friend a long time ago, but he isn’t anymore. HYDRA took that away from you both. Now… we need to figure out what to do with you.”

He hadn’t meant ‘we’ in the literal sense—Steve had no say at all in where he was going from here. He sat there at the table, watching as Fury went through a stack of files and from there to a laptop that sat off to the side.

He had a lot of time to think, while he was doing all that. His thoughts kept straying to Bucky, no matter how many times he tried to avoid it. Bucky was going to be locked up—or worse. Maybe they both were. And what could Hill do, really? She had even less power than Fury did, even if she wanted to help them.

At least they’d had their chance to talk one last time. That might have been the best the two of them would ever get.

Fury cleared his throat and he looked up again.

“You’re staying here,” he said. “Overnight. Until we can round up Stark and Wilson.”

“Yes, sir.”

He’d be near Bucky, even if he wouldn’t get to see him.

“You might be some help with that.” Fury didn’t look hopeful, and really, he had no reason to be.

“No guarantees, sir.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot it was saturday for a minute so i'm a little late but anyway here it is :)  
> i'm watchin good omens and i don't ship anybody rn so there probably wont be fanfic But
> 
> its hella good if you like that sorta thing you should watch it 
> 
> also, i found this thing called Fighter's Block  
> it's, like, a timed writing kinda thing. it's cool, you pick a little avatar and set the number of words you wanna write and then the avatar fights a monster dude until you've written the set number of words--if you stop, your health runs out and you die or something. when you write enough you get xp for it and you can level up and unlock new monsters to fight and stuff. i've been using it to warm up before i start writing and it's kinda fun to be honest.

Tony might have turned around and gone back into the elevator, but the doors were already closed behind them. And Sam was blocking the button, anyway.

Helpless, he looked up at Hill.

"Um... hi," he tried, his voice going embarrassingly high-pitched. He winced a little. "Sorry if we're intruding or something... Are you... mad?" He asked.

He could tell that Sam was annoyed with his choice of words, but he didn't care. It was Hill who he was worried about—which, to be honest, seemed completely justified right now. 

"Director Fury told me to be on the lookout for you two," she said stiffly. She didn't seem _too_ angry. Maybe they'd be okay after all. At least she knew where she was going in this labyrinth of a building. _Did she, though?_ Did anyone? "He's busy," she went on, "So I can't call him and let him know I found you. But I do want to talk to you, while I've got the chance. He briefed me on the details, but he wasn't thorough."

"We'll be happy to fill you in," Tony said. "Can you show us where your office is? We're a little lost."

She almost seemed to smile. "I can see that. Come on. It's not far. You didn't do... too bad, I guess. You tried."

She turned around, on that note, and walked back down the hall. Sam and Tony followed her, both a little nervous about what was going to happen next. She was intimidating, even on a good day. 

Her office really wasn't far—just two lefts and a right, and they were there. It was nice. She had a big desk made out of some kind of dark wood, mahogany, maybe? And floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. It was cloudy outside right now, but the view was still gorgeous. Tony was a little jealous, to tell the truth.

Hill motioned for the two of them to pull up chairs on the other side of her desk as she sat down.

Tony cleared his throat softly. "The weather's nice," he said, nodding towards the window. "Man, being here feels like when I was a kid, getting sent to the principal's office."

Sam laughed. "Principal's office is hard to find."

He nodded seriously. "Yeah. Can you guys work on that? Put up some signs or something? It's kind of a problem, I'll be honest."

Hill raised her eyebrows. "I think it works all right, if you ask me. It kept you two from carrying out whatever plans you had in mind, didn't it?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Well, actually..."

Tony nodded. "Yeah. About that, we came to see you. About Barnes."

"Oh." She sat forward in her seat a little. "I thought you'd have taken more... direct action. Just coming over to talk isn't typical for you, you know." She glanced pointedly at Tony as she said it, and he wasn't sure whether to take it personally or not. "But I'm curious about what you've got to say. I'm supposed to deliver you to Director Fury, but he's busy at the moment, so we have time."

"You said you wanted us to fill you in on everything?" Tony wondered why she needed more information. Fury was known for being thorough. "You can ask us whatever you want. We've got our own stuff that we have to talk to you about, but if we've got time...”

"We've got time." She nodded. "I can make sure. So... I know where Rogers fits in in all this, but he didn't say much of anything about the rest of you. He told me that you were 'involved,' and it's best to keep you here together so that we can get information from you about Barnes. I... understood that much. The practical part. That you were all working together to help him hide. But... why?"

Whatever he had been expecting her to ask, it hadn't been that. Tony wasn't sure he knew the answer. He'd just gone along with it all because Steve wanted his help, and, well, it was hard to say no to him sometimes. It had gone a whole lot easier in his head when he'd been thinking it over before they'd started.

Luckily, Sam had a better answer. "Steve is a friend of mine," he said. "And he wanted my help, so... I did what I'd do in any other situation. I guess that's what everybody else did, too. Bucky kind of grew on me."

"And you're aware of Barnes's... history?" She asked.

"Yes," he said, sounding maybe a little more tense than Tony thought the situation called for. "I am. We all knew about it, because who doesn't, at this point?"

She nodded. "Okay. Okay, I.... yeah. He was a friend of Steve's, so you trust him. I understand that."

"That's what we wanted to talk to you about, actually," Tony said, seizing his opportunity while he had it. "About Bucky. I mean... these guys think he's innocent."

"There's no proof of that," Hill said immediately.

“Steve tried to talk to Fury,” Tony said. “As far as we know, that didn’t work. So we need your help to… uh, convince him?”

She looked unconvinced. “He told me that Rogers tried to talk to him. It didn’t work out well, no.”

Sam cut in. “I know you find it hard to believe. But Bucky’s a friend of ours. And there has to be a way to prove it to you, if you’ll just listen to us.”

“I’m willing to listen,” she said. “You’ve got until Fury calls me back.”

“How long is that going to be?”

“Maybe… twenty minutes, thirty?”

Sam and Tony looked nervously at one another. Neither of them had expected it to be easy, of course, but that was a short time limit.

“Okay.” Sam nodded.

Tony sighed. “Yeah. Okay. Sam and Steve know him the best. They’ve spent the most time with him. That’s… right?”

“Yeah. He lived at my place, while he was hiding out. Fury told you that, didn’t he?” Sam looked up at Hill for confirmation. She nodded. “Yeah,” he continued. “I know him pretty well. I’ve spent a lot of time with him—and, you know, I have a day job at the VA office near here. I’m a therapist, and I can recognize—god, he has symptoms of anxiety and PTSD and who _knows_ what else, that’s just the things he’s told me about. He feels _guilty_ about what he’s done.”

He had such a pained look on his face that Tony felt bad for just sitting there and listening in. That didn’t feel like something he should know, despite never even having met the guy. Did _Steve_ know all that? He got the feeling that he could have been a whole lot more convincing with Fury if he had.

Hill was nodding, though, so maybe it had gotten them somewhere. “I’ll take that into account,” she said slowly. “But Fury will be harder to convince. What you’ve seen isn’t… medical evidence. Although I don’t doubt it coming from you, there’s no way to verify that it’s true, either.”

“Can’t you give him… like, some kind of mental evaluation?” Tony asked.

“We’ve tried,” she said. “He’s… closed-off. Doesn’t answer our questions, which just makes him look even worse.”

Sam nodded. “He was like that with me at first, too,” he said. “Didn’t want to talk to me at all, but… I got him to warm up to me. He’s not easy to talk to, at first, but all it took was a little work on my part.”

He had a point. What had these guys been _doing_ with him, all this time they’d had him locked up here?

“Maybe that does prove something,” she said. “But I want to see it for myself. Maybe we can talk Director Fury into letting you do your own evaluation that we can have on record…?”

Sam was saying something back, arguing that he didn’t think he could _do_ an evaluation himself, because he and Bucky were friends, but clearly no one else could be trusted—but Tony wasn’t paying attention. He’d gotten stuck on the word “record.”

_Record._ That was what they needed, obviously. To prove Bucky’s innocence. And hadn’t HYDRA had a shit-ton of those? Surely that would have included _something_ about Bucky and the Winter Soldier.

He looked up at the other two, who were still arguing. “Guys,” he said softly.

They both looked over at him slowly. He’d annoyed them by interrupting their conversation, but… what could he do.

“Sorry,” he said, a little sheepishly. “I have… an idea.”

“Quit stalling,” Hill said. He felt a sliver of pride at the irritation on her face.

“Right. Okay.” He nodded. “You reminded me of something, when you said you wanted a record. HYDRA had records, didn’t they? Of everything. Nat found them all and dumped them on the Internet a while back, so… there must have been something on the Winter Soldier, right?”

Sam leaned back in his chair. There was definitely a skeptical look on his face, but it wasn’t discouraging. “This sounds like a conspiracy theory to me.”

“Hey, let me talk. So, what I’m getting at is that if they tortured him or forced him to do anything they would have kept it on record… right?”

Hill was nodding. “I’m willing to try. We just need a way to find what we need, and in a reasonable amount of time… there’s going to be a lot of stuff to sift through and some of it’s… well-hidden. Especially something like that.”

“Well, I mean, Natasha can do that, right?” Sam asked. “That’s her kinda thing.”

“She’s here,” she said. “While Fury’s busy, I can bring her up here. It should be quick—she does things like that all the time. I’ll call Barton back here, too. He went home earlier, but… I think he should be here for this too. And then, I guess when she’s done and he’s here, we can talk to him about it again.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he agreed. “We’ll be out of here in no time.”

She stood up quickly. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. You two stay here. Don’t cause any trouble while I’m gone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sam said, grinning.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i know I'm updating early this week and i'm sorry about that (there isn't going to be anything new this Saturday I'm afraid) it's because I'm heading off on a road trip tomorrow and i wont be back until a week from Friday. so chapter 38 will probably be late by a day or so, too :/ i'm sorry
> 
> but i've got half of it written already and it won't take long once i get back, i promise! it might not even be late
> 
> on another note happy birthday cap lmao  
> and me, as well. tomorrow is my birthday too!

Ever since her talk with Clint and Bucky, hours ago, Natasha had been in a cell of her own. She’d been wondering if they were ever going to let her out, or if they’d even bother to bring her dinner. Maybe they’d even forgotten about her, which she didn’t even doubt. They had to be preoccupied with Steve and Bucky.

She heard someone coming, though, just when she'd been starting to give up hope.

She looked up, and there was Maria Hill, of all people, unlocking the door. She stood up quickly. “Agent Hill…?” She said uncertainly. She wouldn’t have thought she’d come to find her personally. “Is something wrong?”

If Bucky or Steve had decided to made a break for it, well… she wouldn’t exactly be surprised.

But Hill shook her head. “No,” she said. “Not exactly. I want you to come with me. I had an… interesting conversation with Stark and Wilson a minute ago. We need to hurry, but I can explain on the way.” She turned to head back down the hall where she’d come from.

Natasha followed her hastily, glancing around at the empty hallway. No one else was around—she got the feeling that whatever Hill was up to may have been a little shifty. Not that there was anything wrong with that, exactly.

She got her explanation, at least. It took nearly the whole walk over, including a flight of stairs and an elevator ride. She couldn’t say she was really surprised by any of it. Leave it to Tony to come up with a plan like that. It was simpler than she’d expect from him—not much like his usual complicated schemes. She appreciated that. Sam probably had something to do with it.

Hill seemed to be in a hurry to get back to her office. She didn’t blame her, if Sam and Tony were in there unsupervised. It would probably be on fire when she got back.

But today was certainly a day full of surprises, because they were sitting peacefully at the desk when the two of them came into the room. They turned around to look at her and Hill, Sam’s face breaking into a grin.

Hill wasted little time greeting them, though. She led Natasha right over to the desk, pulling out the chair for her and gesturing for her to sit down. “I’ve got everything you should need there,” she said, sitting down in another chair nearby. “But if there’s anything else, I’ll have someone get it for you.”

She was perfectly happy to hurry up and get this over with, because the sooner she was done, the sooner she and everybody else could go home.

Hill was watching over her shoulder. She didn’t particularly like someone watching as she worked, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Tony and Sam were similarly distracting, murmuring amongst themselves and occasionally snickering. She did her best to ignore them as she got to work.

It didn’t seem like it was going to be easy—and she hadn’t expected it to be. It didn’t help that the boys seemed to be doing their best to distract her, either. She kept looking up at them pointedly, as if it would shut them up, but it did nothing.

“I should call Barton,” Hill said, already pulling out her phone. “He needs to be here when we talk to Director Fury. Excuse me, for a moment.” She got up to leave the room, dialing the number as she went.

That was fair enough—Clint should know what was going on just as much as the rest of them. But now Tony and Sam were talking even more, and it wasn’t even about anything important.

“Once we get out of here, we should go out to dinner or something,” Tony was saying. “There’s this great shawarma place a little ways from here, you’d love it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sam agreed. “I’m starving. Could go for shawarma.”

She could, too. They really would have to go out after all this was over, but she had something to do first. She reminded herself to concentrate. Fury could come in at any moment, he could find the three of them and Hill wouldn’t even be there to explain things for them because she was presumably still on the phone with Clint. She needed to have something to give him if he showed up— _something._

It had already been five minutes, and she wasn’t even back yet. She was starting to get anxious. Her search wasn’t turning up much, either, and there was no one to help her with it. If Hill were here, they could come up with a backup plan, at least.

And she kept thinking about what was on the line, too, which made everything worse. At first, she’d only been worried about whether _she_ would be able to go home after all this, but there were Sam and Tony too, and Steve and Bucky and probably Clint… thinking about them wasn’t helping.

Just as she was sure that Hill really wasn’t coming back, the door opened again and there she was, tucking the cell phone back into her pocket. “Fury called, too,” she said, perfectly casual, as if she were starting any normal conversation.

“What did he say…?” She asked.

The other two looked up, too. They seemed nervous, suddenly—and why wouldn’t they be. “Anything bad?” Tony asked.

“He wanted to know if I had anything new.” She went back to her chair, sitting down and making herself comfortable. “I told him I found you guys wandering around,” she said, nodding towards Sam and Tony, who looked justifiably betrayed. “I said we’ve been talking. He wants to see you, so I told him we’ll be over in a few minutes. Is that enough time?”

Natasha nodded. “It should be. I haven’t found anything yet but I’ve made some progress. It shouldn’t be long. Ten minutes?”

She didn’t look pleased, but she nodded. “Okay. Ten minutes.”

There was silence, for a little while, aside from the occasional clicking of the keyboard.

Tony cleared his throat softly, and they all looked over at him. “Is this our last chance to get this whole thing worked out?” He asked. “I mean… really. I know Fury’s not on our side to begin with, and neither is anybody else, really, and if this thing doesn’t work out, what’s gonna happen…?”

Natasha didn’t know the answer to that, either. Hill had explained quite a bit they’d been on their way here, and she’d caught her up on everything as best she could, but she didn’t know what would happen later. She looked up from the computer, her hands going still on the keyboard. She needed to listen, too.

“I… don’t know,” she admitted. “The Director will do his best to help you all and Steve, because you work here and it’s not worth losing you over something like this, but Barnes… I don’t know what’s going to happen to him, if what we’re doing here doesn’t work.” She sighed. “But we’ll know what happens soon enough. We’re all going to get a chance to discuss things with him, and if he’s not convinced, we can figure out what to do from there.”

Natasha really didn’t have time to focus on anything other than the task at hand, even as much as she wanted to keep worrying about her friends. Especially Bucky—she remembered what their earlier conversation had been like.

No one else had the luxury of anything to work on, though. They sat in silence, all tense and nervous. Tony looked out the window, his fingernails tapping on the desktop. Sam shifted in his seat, and Hill cleared her throat softly.

It took an inordinate amount of time for her to find anything relating to the Winter Soldier or to Bucky at all, but finally, she had something.

She opened the file and looked up triumphantly at the others. “I’ve got something!” She said, unable to help grinning at the screen in front of her. “We should save this, so I don’t lose it. They hid it pretty damn well.”

Hill handed her a flash drive from one of the desk drawers. “What’s in it?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said, sitting forward a little. “What is it?”

She scrolled through it while she waited for it to load onto the drive. “It’s… a lot of stuff. Transcripts of… some old… I dunno. It’s hard to tell what it is. The date says May of 1976, though… Alexander Pierce is on here.”

Hill came to look, and so did Tony and Sam. “They’re not all transcripts,” Sam said suddenly. “That’s a medical record. Stop there.”

They all crowded around the computer as they tried to see. 

Sam was right. It _was_ a medical record. _Electroshock therapy,_ she read. _Soldat was unusually unresponsive, required extra session._

They went into so much detail that it was startling. Below the paragraph that she’d just read, there was a photo. It was Bucky, unmistakably, looking dazed and disoriented. His eyes were unfocused and there was a bruise on his temple. His shirt was stained with blood.

It felt like something they shouldn’t see.

There was more, too. More photos, each one worse than the last. And there were records, transcripts of recordings from training sessions, several actual recordings, Bucky's voice recognizable in them, and Pierce's, too, a video, everything they needed to prove that nothing Bucky had done there had been voluntary.

Still, they kept reading. There was an incredible amount of material, even in this one file. Looking through it felt almost like watching a car wreck. It was horrible, in every gory detail, but none of them could make themselves look away.

It didn’t feel real. None of them wanted to accept that it was—they’d met Bucky. Natasha doubted that even Sam, who’d heard so much about this kind of thing and from Bucky himself no less, had the capacity to imagine it happening to him like _this._

“We should… stop,” Natasha said finally. Everything was already loaded onto the flash drive. It was more than enough—and if it wasn’t, there was more that she could go back for later. She closed the window and ejecting the flash drive, handing it over to Hill. She took it as if it were something dirty.

“Let’s go,” she said. “I’ll have Barton meet us in his office. He should be here soon.”

She stood up, and Natasha did the same, turning off the computer and making her way around the desk. She was looking forward to their conversation with Fury even less now, if they were going to have to present him with _that._ She just hoped Bucky wouldn’t have to be there for it, or worse, what if _Steve_ found out? He’d be outraged.

The four of them headed for the door, their dread mounting.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's on time!
> 
> and oh, boy, that's a lot of words

They ran into Clint a little ways down the hallway. He was being escorted up by a burly security guard, and he looked nervous. Natasha was relieved to see him.

The security guard let him go and he went over to meet them. “Are we going over to see him now?” He asked.

Hill nodded. “Yeah. It’s not a long walk. We’ve got… all the evidence we need,” she said.

“Yeah. It’s… late,” he said. “Is it gonna take long? I mean—not that I mind, but… y’know.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I hope it goes quickly, but there will be plenty of other things to take care of after we’re done, if it goes well. Because of Barnes.”

He nodded. “Yeah… makes sense.”

And there would be a lot for them to do, too—Clint would probably be good to go, but the rest of them would have paperwork at the very least if they were getting out of here. The best they could hope for was that dealing with Fury wouldn’t take too long.

At the very least, it wasn’t a long walk to his office, just like Hill had said. And he was already there when they filed in, one by one, the door closing sharply behind Natasha.

Fury looked up from the tablet on his desk, surveying the little group with nothing more than curiosity. “Good… evening,” he said casually. “Agent Hill, I thought that when you checked in we were going to be speaking one on one. What have they got to do with this?”

She cleared her throat. “I know you spoke to Agent Romanoff earlier, sir. And that you’re not on really great terms with the rest of them, either, but we’ve got something to show you, about Barnes?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I thought we were done talking about him. He’s a dangerous criminal, enough said.”

“No, we’ve uncovered something new,” she said. “Agent Romanoff found it for us, and it’s… illuminating.”

He thought it over for a moment, looking down at his tablet again. “All right,” he said, at last. “I’ll look at whatever you want to show me. It can’t hurt. Come and sit down. We might be here for a little while.”

They did as they were told, finding seats opposite him at the makeshift desk, except for Hill, who remained standing. She handed him the flash drive.

“You don’t mind if I call a little extra security, do you?” Fury asked, looking around at the group and lingering for a moment on Tony. Natasha felt as though he was well within reason, all things considered.

Before anyone could answer, he was already pressing more buttons on a second device that had been resting on the table. They all watched as he set it back down and plugged the flash drive into the tablet, his brow furrowing as the file loaded and he started looking through it.

“It’s… authentic,” he murmured. “I’ll give you that.”

As if any of them would have been able to fake something like that in such a short time, anyway. And the photos… no one would be able to pull that off so convincingly.

Fury spent a long time looking at the tablet. He grimaced, occasionally—Natasha wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not. She grew tired of waiting. It was already late, and she’d been waiting all day: in her cell, in Hill’s office, now here. It was exhausting.

At long last, he put the tablet down. “I’m having someone bring Barnes and Rogers here. They’re already on their way.”

When she looked around at her friends, she saw a smile on Sam’s face.

 

 

There was no telling how much time had passed between when Steve had said good bye and when the security guard arrived. Bucky looked up as the door opened, blinking at the man in front of him.

He didn’t say a word. No one had warned him that anyone was coming this time. He felt a little betrayed.

The security guard didn’t seem too interested in conversation, either. He stuck out his hand, gesturing for Bucky to get up and come to the door. He did.

“Director Fury wants to see you,” he said. His voice was a low growl.

Bucky didn’t answer for a moment, because there was someone else in the hallway, standing slightly behind the guard. His heart skipped a beat and he found himself smiling before he’d even fully realized. Steve. But they couldn’t talk now. Not with the security guard right there.

“Okay,” he said slowly, not even understanding why he was telling him that. “Let’s go.”

“And he wants you handcuffed.” He shrugged apologetically. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care about Steve’s disapproving glower as he fastened a pair of cuffs around Bucky’s wrists.

Bucky, for his part, didn’t care either. He could break them in an instant if he wanted.

Steve wasn’t handcuffed, though, which he found a little strange. He was slightly jealous—why were they giving him special treatment?

He walked beside Steve as they followed the guard through the halls. He didn’t know where they were going, aside from the part about Fury, and he didn’t ask. He didn’t try to talk to Steve, either, no matter how much he wanted to. He compromised by staying close by his side, every once in a while looking up at him with a shy smile. If not for the fact that Steve kept looking back at him with nearly the same smile on his face, he’d have thought that their conversation earlier had never even happened.

It didn’t take as long as he would have thought to get where they were going. The guard opened the door for them, holding it so that they could walk through. Once they were inside and the door was safely locked, he took off the cuffs and put them back on his belt. Steve gave an audible sigh of relief.

Bucky took his time looking around the room. His friends were there—Natasha, Sam, Clint. So were Fury, Hill, and someone other guy he didn’t recognize. Probably just another one of Fury’s agents.

Fury cleared his throat. “Come here, please, you two. There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

Bucky and Steve shared an uncertain glance, but they did as they were told. They joined the others at the table, although they remained standing.

Fury continued, “Agent Romanoff and Agent Hill have brought me some… interesting news. That along with some rather compelling evidence in your favor.”

Beside him, Steve drew in a breath.

“What did you find?” Bucky asked. He wasn’t ready to hope just yet.

Natasha and Clint shifted their chairs over to make room for the two of them to stand opposite Fury at the table while the man Bucky didn’t know brought a couple of chairs over from the other end of the table.

There was a tablet resting on the table, and Fury pushed it towards them. “It’s only one file, but there’s more than enough there to convince anyone that you were… hardly in your right mind.”

They both sat down and the man returned to his seat, grumbling something under his breath. Bucky picked the tablet up and they both looked at it.

There was what looked like a medical record on the screen. Upon closer inspection, it was one of _his_ medical records. Or, well, one of the Winter Soldier’s, judging by the large HYDRA seal printed across the top. He and Steve read through it slowly. The others watched them in silence, giving Bucky the feeling that they’d already seen it.

It wasn’t much of a medical record, despite the title. It wasn’t anything ‘medical’ at all—it was simply an account of a new procedure they’d done on his arm. As far as he could tell, it hadn’t been necessary at all. There were photographs.

By that time, his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t hold the tablet steady enough to read. Steve took it from him and set it on the table. “That’s enough,” he said firmly. His voice was tight and strained, and his hands shook, too, as he set the tablet down.

“How—how much of that is there?” Bucky asked in a small voice.

Steve put his hand on his arm. He thought it might have been a warning.

“Pages,” Fury said. “Mostly records like that. They’re… graphic.” He nodded. “I’m very sorry.”

“What are you going to do with it?” Steve asked.

“Well…” he sighed. “We’re figuring that out now.”

Hill jumped in from beside him. “Even though we have this, we’ve still got a lot of opposition to deal with. Things weren’t looking good for you before, although we might be able to get you a lighter sentence now, at the very least… we’ll work on it. This really will help.” She sighed.

“I heard you were planning on putting me in solitary confinement.”

Clint took a shallow breath beside him, and Steve’s hand tightened on his arm. He winced a little. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that.

But Fury didn’t seem to care. “It wasn’t our idea,” he said. “I would very much like to avoid that. We don’t have anywhere to put you—it would be expensive to build something, and I won’t ship you off anywhere else…” he sighed. “Hell, keeping you _here_ long term would be a nightmare.”

Steve relaxed again, and so did Clint.

“I… I see,” Bucky said.

Hill cleared her throat. “We should make some calls. Send that file out to as many people as we can, explain the situation. Natasha, can you see if you can find anything else…?”

She was already getting up from her seat. “Just get me a computer.”

The man Bucky didn’t know spoke up as well. “I can help, too.”

Fury nodded towards the security guard, presumably to tell him to bring Natasha a computer. “No, Stark,” he said, shaking his head. “I need you to do us a different favor. You’ll be helping the rest of us—myself, Agent Hill, Barton, and Wilson—with the phone calls. I hear you can be quite persuasive.”

“What about me?” Bucky asked.

“And me,” Steve added. “I can make some calls, too, if you want me to. It sounds like you’ll need all the help you can get.”

Fury looked them up and down, his gaze lingering on Steve’s hand on Bucky’s arm. “No, that’s all right,” he said. “You two can stay here and if anything comes up, we’ll tell you.”

That sounded terribly boring, but he also didn’t want anything to do with that file—he was perfectly fine with letting the others handle it. He didn’t want Steve to have to see it again, either.

The guard came back in carrying a case with a laptop for Natasha, and by that time they’d already had a short discussion of who to call and nearly everyone was working. Even the Stark guy had his cell phone out and was arguing hotly with some lawyer.

Which reminded him…

“Stark?” He whispered, nodding towards the man.

Steve nodded, grinning. “Howard’s kid.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide, and he did a double take. “Howard’s… kid?” He repeated.

Steve laughed. “Hard to imagine, I know. But yeah, he had a kid. He’s just like him—he’s not the easiest to get along with, but you’ll like him. You always got on better with Howard than I did.”

“Is he an engineer, too?” He asked, really curious now.

“You should ask him that yourself,” he said. “He’ll give you a much better answer than I ever could, but… basically, long story short, yeah. And he’s a hell of a lot more than that. I’m surprised you haven’t heard anything about him, maybe watching TV with Sam?”

“Well, you can’t just tell me _that_ and expect me to figure out what you mean,” he complained. He looked up over Steve’s shoulder at where Tony was pacing the room, gesticulating wildly with the hand that wasn’t holding the phone. “What about him? He finally invent a flying car?”

Steve laughed. It was such a lovely laugh, it caught him so off-guard that he nearly didn’t hear his answer. “He did a hell of a lot more than that. I’m sure you’ve seen _something_ —people call him Iron Man.”

“Yeah, that rings a bell,” Bucky admitted. “I think he was on the news, a while back… Sam told me about him. Didn’t say he was Howard’s kid, though.”

“Yeah. He’s done… a lot of new stuff. No flying cars, not exactly, but we can ask him about it once we get out of here.”

“You say that like it’s for sure,” Bucky commented. He’d never known him to be all that optimistic.

He smiled, though, that same brilliant smile that he’d loved all these years. “We’ve got everything we need now, Buck. Fury and Hill are on our side, and everything. Besides, what else can go wrong?”

“Sounds like you’re tempting fate to me, Stevie.” He laughed softly. “But I believe you.” He couldn’t _not_ believe him, not with that stupid, sincere smile and those pretty, blue eyes, and when was the last time he’d seen him look so happy, anyway? It was hard not to feel the same.

“Yeah, see?” Steve reached over, and before Bucky even realized what he was doing, he was holding his hand.

He looked down, a blush rising up the back of his neck and spreading across his face.

“…Is everything okay?” Steve was asking.

He realized that he’d gone a little bit tense. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, Stevie. Everything’s okay.” He looked up at him with a shy smile. “More than okay.” Their chairs were very close together, with the way that everyone was crammed in at the table. Close enough that he could lean over and rest his head on his shoulder, which he did, gladly.

Steve let go of his hand, and for a split second he thought he was going to pull away entirely. He had no reason to worry, though. He was only shifting around a little so that he could get his arm around his shoulders.

It wasn’t the most comfortable, sitting in these chairs, but Bucky didn’t particularly care. He lifted his head a little and looked up at him again, meeting his eyes. Steve was blushing, too—it was very light, his face just slightly pink in a way that made his freckles stand out. He was smiling, too, that same lovely, soft smile as before. His lips looked soft, too, and… for the first time in such a long time, he thought about kissing him.

“Got something on your mind, Buck?” Steve asked.

He blinked, hastily looking away. “No—I mean, nothing in particular.”

Steve had a positively shit-eating grin on his face, and with the way Bucky had just been staring at him, there was no way he didn’t know what had been going through his head. If not for the fact that they were in a room full of people—including Steve’s boss—he’d have kissed him then and there.

But it would have to wait.

“If you’re sure,” he said, turning to look around at the others.

Bucky did the same. It was significantly quieter now. Most of them were sitting quietly at the table. Natasha had closed her laptop, and only Fury was still tapping away at his tablet.

Tony was lounging in his seat, his feet propped up on the table. He stared thoughtfully out the window, which was darkened now. It was late. Looking around, Bucky realized just how tired everyone looked—how late was it?

Sam yawned. “We’re about done here, right?” He asked.

Fury looked up from his tablet, then glanced back at the window. “I suppose so. Why?”

“It’s _late_ ,” Tony complained. “I’m hungry.”

“Fine.” He sighed. “Go ahead. Except for you two—Barnes and Rogers. You stay. Everyone else is free to go.”

They glanced at each other, hastily shifting in their seats and sitting up straight again, Steve resting his hands on the table. It felt strange for Fury to see them that way, although he must have noticed before.

Everyone else got up, except for Hill, talking excitedly about what they’d do for dinner. He hoped they’d get to leave soon, or at least that someone would bring them something to eat. He was starving.

“So,” Fury said. “Things are looking up now. We’ve got what we didn’t have before, thanks to Agent Romanoff, and everyone knows what HYDRA’s capable of.”

Bucky nodded.

“So… what do we do now?” Steve asked.

“It’s hard to tell for sure,” Hill said. “But for right now, you’re entirely up to us. We just have to find something relatively… secure. Something everyone else will be happy with—we can discuss that with you, right now.”

“Preferably, we keep you here,” Fury said.

“Is there any way we can avoid that?” Steve asked.

“We’re open to suggestions.”

Bucky looked down at the tabletop. He didn’t know what they’d do—he hadn’t been expecting this. Having to come up with his own solution seemed… weird.

“House arrest?” Steve asked in a pained voice.

“What about it?” Fury looked at him over the top of his tablet, curious.

“What you did with me, after I broke into your new training facility a couple of years ago,” he explained. He was going to have to ask him about that later. “You sent me home with that bracelet for a couple of weeks so that you could keep an eye on me?”

Fury was nodding. “That could work. It’s not a high-security prison cell, but if you’re there to keep an eye on him…” he sighed. “You’re not ideal, either, but you’re one of our agents. You’ll do. And we’ll have a team on-call, if we see something suspicious.”

“Is that really necessary?” Steve asked, his jaw going tense.

“You’re the one who suggested it,” he pointed out. “It might be our best option. He gets to avoid prison time, we stay out of trouble. If we work things out with everybody else, it’s all over and the bracelet comes off in a couple of weeks.”

That sounded like a good option to Bucky. He got to leave this place, get something good for dinner, and hopefully sit on his ass at home for a couple of weeks with minimal appearances in court. Speaking of… “Where am I staying, though?” He asked. “For now?”

He didn’t want to have to ask Sam to take him back.

“You’ll come home with me,” Steve said quickly. “That’ll be easier.”

“We’re all good, then?” Fury asked, putting the tablet down and standing up. He nodded towards the security guard. “If you can take them over to Research and Development, please.”

 

Hardly ten minutes later, the two of them were standing outside the building. Bucky was sporting a small, silver bracelet on his right wrist—according to the man who had set it up for him, it was, “much more advanced than your average house-arrest bracelet, so don’t try anything.”

As the two of them understood it, it was meant only to track where he was. He could go home with Steve and do whatever he pleased, as long as he stayed within a list of pre-determined locations that was supposed to arrive by the next morning. He could also ask Fury for permission if he wanted to go somewhere else, which honestly sounded like a pain in the ass, and, of course, the data from the bracelet would be heavily monitored at all times.

It was hastily set up, but anything was better than going back into a prison cell.

Steve was in the midst of calling a cab—a much different process than the one he was used to, which nowadays seemed to involve using a cell phone to actually _call_ it. Or, well, not call exactly. Something similar. It was taking a while.

Finally, he flipped the phone off and put it back in his pocket. “Sorry it took so long,” he said. “They’ll be here soon. Five minutes or so.”

“That’s good,” Bucky said, “I’m _starving._ ”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, me too. What do you want for dinner?”

“I could eat just about anything. But maybe a burger? I dunno… or we could cook, maybe.”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a week.”

“Of course. We’re going tomorrow,” Bucky decided, wrinkling his nose a little.

“ _We?_ ” He repeated.

“Yeah.” Bucky laughed. “Just like old times.”

Steve rolled his eyes. They were already standing close together—he slipped his arm around his waist, leaning against him a little. Steve put his arm around him, too, and they stood there in silence for a moment. It was dark out, and mostly deserted. The building was in a quiet part of town, and he was grateful for that.

He turned to face him, looking up at him. Steve was ever so slightly taller than he was, now. He had to look _up_ at him, just a little, and his arms around him were warm and strong… he found himself practically pressed against his chest.

There was a smile on Steve’s face, warm and gentle and soft, just barely visible in the light spilling out from the front door of the building beside them. He was so… sweet. And before he knew it, he was thinking about kissing him all over again, desperately wanting to just lean forward and press his lips against his—

Steve was watching him curiously, that beautiful smile a little teasing now. He could tell what he was thinking about, no question… And they were alone, this time, they would be for a few more minutes…

“Can I kiss you?” Bucky asked, forgetting all his caution.

He worried that he’d screwed up, for a moment, because Steve tensed up in apparent surprise, but he need not have worried. “Of course,” he said, his voice so soft that it was hardly above a whisper.

Bucky hesitated for a moment. He’d wanted this for so long, and now that he had the chance, it didn’t feel quite real, but didn’t want to waste any time. He snapped himself out of his daze and kissed him gently. There was one terrifying moment where he thought, again, that Steve would push him away, but he had nothing to worry about. He kissed back, reaching up to run his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

The kiss was wonderful—everything he’d hoped it would be. When they both pulled back, breathless, their faces were pink and flushed and Steve’s hand was still tangled in his hair. He smiled shyly, immediately reaching up to kiss him again.

They pulled away, though, startled by a loud car horn from the street. Steve stumbled back, red-faced. “That’s us,” he said, laughing.

Bucky caught his hand and they walked down to the street together. He was very much looking forward to getting home.


	39. Epilogue

House arrest wasn’t terrible—it was at least better than prison had been, so far. He’d been living with Steve for two weeks already.

While Steve went into work pretty regularly, Bucky handled grocery shopping at the Wal-Mart down the street, which was on the list of places he was allowed to visit. It was nerve wracking at first, just being out of the house, but he got used to it. While he still had to be careful about when he went out, to make sure that it wasn’t too crowded, it was nice to get out of the house sometimes.

When Steve was home, the two of them spent their time catching up. They watched movies together, most nights. Steve usually fell asleep midway through, which Bucky could hardly fault him for—not when he was so cute.

Tonight, though, Bucky had managed to set up a date for the two of them at a nice restaurant. He’d had to call Fury beforehand in order to make sure he wouldn’t be breaking his house arrest, which had been humiliating because it meant that he’d also effectively had to explain to Steve’s boss that he and Steve would be going on a date.

With that awkward, embarrassing conversation out of the way, he and Steve were free to go.

They’d taken a long time to get ready. Bucky had to borrow some clothes from Steve to save them a shopping trip, because he didn’t have anything suitable for a proper date this century. They were slightly oversized, but comfortable. Steve had done his hair for him, too. He’d washed and dried it, and he’d wanted to curl it, too, but they didn’t have a curling iron.

Bucky’s excitement for their date had only grown as they finally finished getting ready and made their way out to Steve’s car. Steve looked nervous, just the way he was starting to feel. If nothing else, that made him feel a little better.

By the time they arrived at the restaurant they’d picked, his heart was pounding in his chest. He hadn’t been a date since the forties! What if he screwed this up? The stakes were higher now, too. This was _Steve—_ he couldn’t fuck things up with him.

And worse, it was crowded. They’d made a reservation, but they hadn’t expected this many people. There was even a large group outside the door, waiting for a table.

He took a deep breath before he got out of the car, trying to calm himself. He hated crowds now more than ever. He was _recognizable_ to these people, and so was Steve.

Steve seemed to sense his anxiety and held out his hand for him. He took it, squeezing it gently. “Let’s get inside,” he said softly, his nerves starting to ease up a little. He’d be okay.

“Yeah. It’s less crowded in there, I’ll bet.” Steve started to lead the way inside.

The hostess who took them to their table was blatantly staring at the pair of them the entire time. Bucky tried not to pay attention, but he was relieved when she turned to leave. He took his jacket off and hung it over the back of his chair before he sat down, and Steve did the same.

“You picked a nice restaurant, Buck,” Steve commented, looking around the place.

It was a cozy sort of place, but nice. They had a table off towards the back of the restaurant, where they were hidden away from everyone.

“We agreed on it,” he said with a little shrug. “I wish we’d had this kind of thing back home.”

Steve nodded. “Me, too, Buck. But we’ve got time to make up for it, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” he said, reaching over to take his hand, which was resting on the table. “We’ve got plenty of time to make up for it, Stevie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh, boy. I've been working on this thing since october! it's been a lot harder than I expected, honestly, but damn it was a lot of fun and I've loved you guys' comments and everything and hOly shit i did finish it. look at that.
> 
> and I'm starting another one too!   
> it's another slow burn (of course) and honestly i didn't mean to publish it so quickly but AO3 threatened to delete my draft tomorrow if i didn't put my first chapter out at least.  
> so this is my life now. maybe check it out...? here's the link, anyway: 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412350/chapters/46197493
> 
> thank you all so much for reading!   
> and actually if you're into good omens you can maybe expect some ineffable husbands fanfic soon too :3


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